Chapter XIV: In the Circle of Light

Tom looked in the cabin but, as he had suspected, the coil of rope had not been brought from the car. So he set forth through the woods to their obscure parking place.

Meanwhile, Brent proceeded with a systematic exploration of the old well. Directing his flashlight at the crevices in the masonry of the shaft, he scrutinized and removed every removable scrap of stone which might have concealed something. This inspection he carried as high as his arms could reach. He searched, not only for a metal box, but also for any remnants of a smaller and perishable container. Here and there where a stone in the wall looked as if it might easily be dislodged, he worked it out and scrutinized the hollow place it left. He proceeded upon the supposition that, if the money were there at all, it would be secreted in the wall somewhere. It was there, of course, that in all likelihood no absolutely complete search had ever been made.

And here was a point which his humorous but keen mind took cognizance of. I thought it was rather skilful reasoning. It occurred to him that to search the wall was better than to direct his attention to the mud and débris below him, because the section of wall he was searching _had probably never been examined before_. If old Buck had examined the walls he had done so standing on the bottom. But now the bottom was elevated by many years’ accumulation of nature’s rubbish. Perhaps it was elevated six or eight feet. So Brent carried on his inspection in a previously uninspected area of masonry.

It was possible that Mink Havers had reached down from the surface and slipped his treasure in somewhere. And it was more than probable that his partner had searched that area, as also the area near the bottom. But was it not possible that Havers had descended part way, secreted his treasure behind some loose stone, and then climbed out? If he had, it seemed likely that there was still an uninspected belt in that crude masonry. Brent believed (so he said) that the accumulation of débris in the bottom raised the floor of the well to a point enabling him to explore this area. It was good reasoning and showed his real intelligence.

He had not scrutinized the wall for long, nor removed many suspicious stones, before he noticed something which gave him a thrill. This was a stone with a rough cross cut upon it. And you will understand that this was at a point in the well which must have been several feet above the head even of Long Buck as he stood on the bottom many years before. You will remember, too, that the old hunter had no glaring flashlight to aid him in his search.

With these thoughts in his mind it was with a thrill that Brent’s eye fell upon this rough cross cut in a stone of the masonry. With his jackknife he began digging at the plaster around it and his hope ran high as he found that it crumbled readily. He thought that clay might hastily have been introduced there in place of the dislodged plaster.

At last with trembling hands he got a hold upon the stone and worked it out. I can well imagine his excitement (young philosopher though he is) as he removed this stone with its telltale mark. He had to reach somewhat above him to do this and had slipped his flashlight under his armpit to use both hands, when suddenly the flashlight slipped from its place and fell upon the enmeshed and rotted accumulation on which he had been keeping a precarious foothold. Instantly there was an appalling rattling sound (emphasized, I suppose, by that dark echoing shaft) and Brent’s blood ran cold as he beheld almost at his very feet a coiled snake hissing with darting tongue at the area of brightness shed by the flashlight.

Brent still held the stone in air and his thoughts of hidden treasure vanished at the horrible spectacle below him. Should he drop the stone upon the enraged reptile? Suppose it should not fall right? And how long would this frightful thing, hated by man and bird and beast--how long would it wait?

It was angry at the flashlight, not at Brent. But if Brent moved, stirred ... And, meanwhile, the seconds passed. A crumbling bit of plaster fell. The hissing continued. The little ball of light burned brightly and cast a luminous circle on the dank, oppressive débris. Six, seven, eight seconds. And Brent Gaylong did not stir--not a hair. He stood like a statue. But his blood was cold. Nine, ten, eleven seconds.

We are all subject to insane impulses. Who has not felt the impulse to jump off a roof? For a moment Brent was in the spell of a strange impulse to stoop leisurely, lay down the stone and pick up his flashlight. But he did not do that. He did not budge. He still held the stone above his head, like a piece of Roman statuary. The reptile did not budge either, but he rattled and hissed, and his tongue darted like lightning. And meanwhile the seconds passed--twelve, thirteen, fourteen....