The boys spent the day in suppressed excitement, not caring to engage in any amusement, but roaming about the house and making their “preparations.” After much wandering through the building, they gathered up everything they thought would be needful.

“It’s a great pity we haven’t more weapons,” Henry said. “Now, Will to go armed rightly, we should have revolvers, not pistols. Seven-shooters, with a box of cartridges apiece, would make us very formidable, and then we ought to have other weapons. Well, I’ve a compass, anyway; you must take it, Will, for you don’t know the way so well as I do. These pistols of mine are very good, for pistols; but after all, they are only pistols.”

Henry was wrong in being ashamed of his firearms. They were very neat and highly ornamented pocket-pistols, which his father had given to him some years before, under a promise not to use them till he should be old enough to do so with safety. He had strictly kept that promise.

There was nothing wrong with them; but Henry got out his father’s oil can, and the two boys toiled over them for upwards of an hour. The oil in the little can ran low, and a pile of greasy rags rose beside them; but when[164] they at last desisted from their labors, a sweet smile of content lit up their grimy features, and unthinkingly they drew out their handkerchiefs.

“Oh!” cried Will with a look of dismay.

“Never mind,” said Henry, composedly. “Just keep yours, and I’ll keep mine, and they’ll make the very best kind of a slate-cloth, and when they get worn out for that, the ragman will buy them at a cent a pound. Now, Will, just look at these pistols; they are as clean as a snow-storm!”

This sublime comparison restored Will’s cheerfulness, and together they wended their way outside to wash.

“Will,” he said, “to show you how very careful I am, we won’t load this pair of pistols till just before we go. All the accidents you read about in the newspapers come from loaded pistols and revolvers lying around loose; so we’ll cheat fate, and not load them till the last minute. And,” he added, “to be still more careful, you may load them both yourself.”

But where Will was concerned, Fate was not to be cheated so easily; in fact, on this occasion, Henry was “only playing into her hands.”

For some reason, neither of the boys said anything to Mr. or Mrs. Mortimer about their intended expedition, wishing, according to their account, to have a “tale to tell” the next morning. Although they kept saying to each other that they would be doing nothing wrong, it is probable they feared Mr. Mortimer might think they would be better at home than at the Demon’s Cave. To do them justice, it must be stated that neither meditated doing any harm; they wished only to effect an entrance into the cave. They were certain that they would reach home by bedtime; and then, the affair being all over, they could narrate their adventures at their leisure. They were observing boys, and knew well enough that when they returned in triumph and safety, their little prank would be excused; and far from being blamed, they would be regarded with admiration—even lionized.

Yes, Will and Henry were wise in their day and generation.

[165]

In the morning Henry had said to his mother: “Ma, could you get supper earlier than usual to-night? Will and I want to go out about sundown. We’ll tell you all about it afterwards.”

Mrs. Mortimer supposed, of course, that everything was all right, and never thought of questioning them as to whither they were going. She, good soul, promised to get an early supper on purpose for them, and even proposed that they should take some eatables with them. The boys heartily agreed to this—not that they cared to eat on the way; but they thought it would become them, as armed heroes, to take along a knapsack of food.

When supper was announced the impatient knights-errant hastily ate it. Then Henry put some tempting sandwiches—the eatables his kind mother had prepared—into his satchel, or knapsack, and called to Will to get ready.

“Now, Will,” he said, as they flew up stairs to his room, “we must hurry like a train of cars behind time. It is getting late, and you must load the pistols as fast as you can, while I change my boots. Here is everything you want in this drawer, and you know just where to lay your hand on whatever you want.”

“Oh, yes,” said Will.

“See, Will, here’s a big jack-knife for you, and another for me. They’re the toughest and grittiest old fellows you ever saw; stick this one into your pocket.”

So they armed their persons with these formidable and bulky knives. Did they expect to kill anyone, or to be killed themselves?

Will felt no uneasiness about taking a pocket-knife, however big it might be; but he looked at the pistols with awe.

“You secured the compass before supper?” asked Henry.

“Yes.”

“Then don’t stand fooling, Will, but load the pistols.”

The sun had set, and the boys’ bedroom facing the east, it was somewhat dark within it. Will knew he must hurry, for it was getting late, and Henry would[166] soon be ready. His old dread about taking the pistols returned, and his hand trembled with suppressed excitement as he snatched them up.

“I’ll load ’em,” he said desperately, “but I don’t like to do it.”

“Don’t be chicken-hearted at the last minute, Will; you know I rely on you to help me;” Henry called out, from the adjoining room.

“Never mind,” Will replied confusedly, as he opened the drawer of which Henry had spoken. There were many things in this drawer, arranged in excellent order, Henry thought; but to anyone else, everything seemed to be in appalling disorder, as though thrown into it at random. Boxes, strings, cords, fishhooks, slate-pencils, lead-pencils, discarded buttons; a glass ink-bottle that a blue-eyed girl had once given him for prompting her against the rules; a top that a dead bro............