The more he reflected upon his situation, the more disheartened did he become.  He had been given many remarkable deliverances in the past few days, and although his faith was strong that Providence would bring him out of this last predicament, his heart misgave him as he considered it in all its bearings.

“The best thing I can do is to try and gather some wood together, and start a fire.  If there is enough fuel, I may kindle a lantern that will show me something in the way of a new door—­Halloa! what is the matter?”

His attention was attracted by the rattling of gravel and dirt at his side, and looking up, he saw that something was struggling in the opening above, having been caught apparently in precisely the same manner as he had been.

His first supposition was that it was a wild animal, but the next moment he observed that it was a person, most probably an Apache warrior.  And by the time Fred had learned that much, down came his visitor.

CHAPTER XXVI A WELCOME VISITOR

Lonely as Fred Munson felt in that dismal cavern, he preferred the solitude to the companionship of an Apache Indian, and, fearful of discovery, he crouched down to wait until he should move away.  His involuntary visitor dropped within a few feet of where he was hiding, and Fred tried to hold his breath for fear he might be detected; but the fellow quietly rose and gave expression to his sentiments.

“Begorrah, if I haven’t fell through into the cellar, as me grandmither did when she danced down the whole party, and landed on the bottom, and kept up the jig without a break, keep ing time with the one-eyed fiddler above.”

Fred could scarcely believe the evidence of his own senses.  That was the voice of his old friend, Mickey O’Rooney, or else he was more mistaken than he had ever been in his life.  But whatever doubts might have lingered with him were removed by the words that immediately followed.

“It beats the blazes where that young spalpeen can be kaping himself.  Me and Misther Simpson have been on the hunt for two days and more, and now when I got on his trail, and found where he’d crawled into the bushes, and I tried to do the same, I crawled into the biggest cellar in the whole world, and I can’t find the stairs to walk out again—–­”

“Helloa, Mickey!  Is that you, my old friend?” called out the overjoyed lad, springing forward, throwing his arms about him, and breaking in most effectually upon his meditations.

The Irishman was mystified for a moment, but he recognized the voice, reached down, and placed his arms in turn about the lad.

“Begorrah, if this ain’t the greatest surprise of me life, as Mr. O’Spangarkoghomagh remarked when I called and paid him a little balance that I owed him.  I’ve had a hard hunt for you, and had about guv you up when I came down on you in this shtyle.  Freddy, me boy, I crave the privilege of axing ye a question.”