In the course of an hour Ned's prediction began to be verified. The roar of the flood ceased entirely, and the water receded from the beach until the stream looked as shallow and quiet as a meadow brook. Ned waded clear across to the opposite wall without going over his knees.

"The flood from the dam has spent itself. I'm afraid we'll have to wade through and pull the canoes after us. I can see shoals and ledges not far below. I'll lead the way with the lantern."

This proposition was far from pleasing to Nugget, but he uttered no remonstrance. He had implicit faith in Ned by this time.

The canoes were pulled into the water, and without delay the boys started down the gloomy channel. They pushed the canoes ahead of them, and in this way supported themselves and lessened the danger of slipping.

For a while they made fair progress and encountered but few shoals. The stream was nowhere more than knee deep.

Under these favorable circumstances Ned relaxed his caution, and the consequence was that his feet slipped on the smooth stone, and down he went into a pretty deep hole. The lantern fell from his hand was extinguished, and the canoe shot ahead of him.

Nugget's cry of alarm was the first thing that Ned heard when he recovered his footing, and he found himself almost breast deep in water. He was shivering with cold—and with something else as well, for he realized the full meaning of the disaster, and for a moment he was sick and faint.

"I'm all right, Nugget," he shouted. "Stay where you are. Don't move a foot."

Then he waded cautiously forward until the channel was knee deep again, and shaking the water from his hands as well as he could, he drew out the precious match and struck a light.

His canoe had lodged on a reef a few feet down stream, but the lantern was gone beyond recovery. The situation was serious. Nugget's lantern was in Randy's canoe, and worse than all, only four matches remained in the box.

"It's a bad fix," thought Ned; "but we must make the best of it. Nugget," he added aloud, "push your canoe along the right side. I think the water is shallow there."

Nugget obeyed, and joined his companion without difficulty.

"Have you any matches?" asked Ned.

"Not a single one." Nugget went through his pockets to make sure, and turned a shade whiter when he saw Ned's scanty stock, two of which were already exhausted.

"This is terrible," he exclaimed huskily. "What can we do now?"

"Not very much," replied Ned. "Keep your spirits up, though; that's the important thing. Here, take these, and burn one at a time."

He handed the match box to Nugget, and quickly drew the canoes side by side. He took a stout fishing line from his pocket and tied them together at bow and stern.

Then he rummaged the hatches in a vain search for something that would burn. Even the paper that was around some of the bundles was damp from spray and leakage.

"Well, Nugget, we must make the best of it," he said. "All we can do is to push on in the dark. Is that the last match?"

"One left," answered Nugget dolefully, and heaved a long sigh.

"Don't use it, then. It may come in handy later on. The situation is not as bad as it looks. We can stick close together and push the canoes ahead of us. In that way we won't run any risk of striking the wall. Of course we can't move very rapidly, but our getting out of the cavern is only a question of time."

"I hope it won't take long," said Nugget. "A day or two of this would drive me mad."

Just then the match he was holding burnt to the end and fell in the water. He restored the box to Ned, and taking hold of the canoes at the stern ends, they moved slowly through the darkness.

No words can adequately describe the suffering and thoughts of the two lads during the next hour. Nugget could not repress an occasional complaint, and even the stout hearted Ned felt at times as though he must cry out.

The fate of Clay and Randy weighed almost as heavily upon him as his own misfortunes. He knew their chance of escape had been very slight, and he feared they had not been able to take advantage of it. Little wonder then that he looked forward with almost equal dread and joy to reaching the end of the cavern.

That ordeal, however, promised to be long delayed. It was a painfully laborious task to accomplish even a snail-like progress through the dark passage.

What lay before them the boys could only imagine, and they constantly feared some calamity. It was impossible to keep the canoes straight. They veered to right and left, striking the rocky sides of the channel, which actually seemed to be growing narrower.

Every few moments they stuck fast on a shoal or submerged reef, and then Ned had to feel his way to the front with his paddle, and dislodge them by main force. The water was of variable depth, and half a dozen times the boys suddenly plunged breast deep into a hole, but fortunately did not let go of the canoes.

At the end of an hour the situation was unchanged. As yet not a ray of light was visible ahead. Ned cheered his companion with hopeful words, and both struggled on and on, straining their eyes through the gloom to catch the first glimpse of light.

They felt that their powers of endurance would soon be spent. They were intensely weary, and chilled to the bone by their dripping clothes. Contact with the rocks had bruised their hands and feet, and every step was a torture.

At last the canoes grounded on some yielding surface and refused to budge. Ned staggered forward and found their prows imbedded in what he judged to be a bar of sand and gravel stretching across the channel. He walked on a few steps to ascertain its width, and was amazed and frightened by coming in contact with a solid wall of rock.

"Come here, quick, Nugget!" he called hoarsely.

Nugget waded alongside the canoes, and was soon on the bar.

"What is it?" he cried. "Anything wrong?"

For answer Ned took the last match from the little metal box, and lighted it.

As the little blaze flared up the boys looked curiously about them. One brief glimpse revealed the awful truth. The sandy bar was in reality the end of the passage. Beyond it rose a smooth, slimy wall, and overhead was a low jagged roof dripping with moisture. The canoes lay in a quiet pool of water that was as dead and void of current as a mill pond.