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Pulp Fiction, 1868 · page 81 of 116

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The Maid of the Mountain — page 81: Pulp Fiction, 1868

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they could easily ascend and descend. . When all was ready, ‘a guard of ten was left in the ravine, that,no one should dis- — turb the ladders ; the rest descended... They knew that there was a door somewhere in the inside wall of. the precipice, but where, none could determine; . Everywhere it seemed but a rough, shining wall of solid quartz, The captain wentalong the wall, striking it, and intently listening after every blow’ - to discover if there was.any indication of a passage. Hewas disappointed. Every part aaibiesitendetie rung as true as il it were solid throughout. : “ Strange,” sald the captein,to laio,men: * Tean't make i er 3 hearty langh from within the mountain was the. only answer to this admission, “Tt is plain that the rascals are on the wateh.. By Jove, we will have them out of that. Speak very low, boys. Don’t let them hear a word we say. _Do.you mean to leave Tom- my Eliot in their hands ?” | “ Never,” cried the men. “Very good. Then all we have got to do is to find ‘these fellows, _.i’s plain they have got a burrow somewhere here, - and we must dig for it. g Mibaeerenethbec bars ,yoe found on “ Here, sir.” -The men brought, forward a numberof picks . and drills, which lay loose upon the ledge, as if merviiectanags had only " just abandoned work, “ At that wall, boys, and see if you can find ¢ a hole. ily The picks and drills were at work in a moment, guided by strong arms. For half an hour nothing was heard but the “chip! chip!” of the drills, as they worked their way into the side of the wall before them, searching for the passage known to exist. The evening was coming on. Just as it was ste pe Reg oan Ang don ge the thipe worker. The man declared that just as he rock, something seized the drill and dragged it ou? However that might be, they had found the But it was see to make the attack without ches, and about the time the chief rushed out of the pre- of Inez in such mad haste, the rangers were placing - ~ uf tf ny coml{cbooks.com