He reached for it
in sudden surprise. He saw that it had been lately in use. He started
to his feet and moved up closer to the fall, looking into the dark
places under the rock. His foot struck something; it was the oil-can.
He picked it up and examined it. There was blood on it; and both can
and lamp were empty. He looked up at the face of the fall and then
the truth came slowly into his mind. The boy had attempted to climb
through that wilderness of rock, had reached the precipice, had fallen
to the floor, had spilled his oil, and had wandered off into the
dreadful darkness, hurt and helpless.
"Oh, the puir lad!" he said, aloud. "Oh, the puir dear lad! He canna
be far fra here," he continued, "not far. Ralph! Ralph!"
He waited a moment in silence, but there was no answer. Then, hastily
examining the passage as he went, he hurried down along the heading.
At one place he found a burned match. The boy had gone this way, then.
He hastened on. He came to a point where two headings met, and stopped
in indecision. Which route had Ralph taken? He decided to try the one
that led to the slope. He went in that way, but he had not gone ten
rods before he came upon a little heap of charred rags in the middle
of the passage. He could not understand it at first; but he was not
long in discovering what it meant. Ralph had burned his jacket to
light up the path.
"Ah! the sufferin' child!" he murmured; "the dear sufferin' child!"
A little further along he saw a boy's cap lying in the way.
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