I deserve something for forgetting this hole," came a
voice from out of the depths.
Frank looked down. His eyes being accustomed to the sunlight he could not
see anything but darkness there. But even as he was trying to pierce
this, a match flamed up, and he discovered his chum kneeling on a pile of
dirt, holding up his improvised torch as though curious to look around.
"What is this place, Jerry?" demanded the one above.
"Why, Will must remember if he once gets his mind off that miserable old
camera of his. It's the shaft of what was intended to be a mine," replied
Jerry, with disgust plainly marked in his tones.
"A mine--and here? I never heard of it!" echoed Frank.
"That's because you are a newcomer in Centerville. Years ago--oh! I
couldn't say how many--a crank lived in the little hut close by, now
occupied by the family of a lumberman. He believed there was gold in this
region. For nearly a year he dug down and made this shaft. Then he died
in his cabin, and no one else ever had faith enough in the thing to
continue the work," said Will, chiming in.
"What! do you mean to say this hole in the ground has gone all these
years as a trap, ready to swallow any pilgrim who walked along this
trail?" demanded Frank.
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