Ghost Cave (4 page)

“Listen, a guy found Mammoth Cave in Kentucky when he chased a rabbit into a hole. It's not impossible.” Marc lay down beside Hermie and tried to see inside, but it was pitch black past the opening. He heard little whining noises. “It's okay, Bluedog, it's okay,” he said into the darkness.

“You think this is that old cave people talk about all the time?” asked Eddie. “If it is, we may be famous for finding it.”

“Bluedog found it,” Marc reminded Eddie.

“There are probably caves throughout these bluffs that no one has found.” Hermie wasn't an explorer, but he read about everything.

There was an old story around town that a large cave existed in the area. But no one could remember where it was. Mr. Daniels said he remembered searching for it when he was a boy. His dad had talked about it.

Marc laughed, partly out of relief for finding Blue, partly out of excitement. “She must have chased that rabbit right in there, like Alice down the rabbit hole. Bluedog, are you all right?” He lay on his stomach and shouted through the hole, almost hidden with long grasses and a patch of honeysuckle.

Bluedog barked an answer. It was obvious that she was a long way down. “Oooof, oooof,” her voice echoed.

“Dumb dog,” Eddie said, but this time with some pride in his voice.

“How are we going to get her out?” Hermie asked.

“How are we going to get ourselves in? That's the question. Boy howdy, a cave to explore.” Marc's mind raced. It would take ropes. He wondered if his dad would help.

“You sure we want to go in? Let's get Bluedog out and forget we ever found this place.” Hermie had never pretended to be an explorer. He preferred to get his excitement from reading about someone else's adventures.

“Not go in? You must be kidding. Of course we're going in.” Eddie was ready to slide right down the hole like Bluedog had done.

“It could be something incredible, like Crystal Cave.” Marc raised up and looked around. “I wonder who owns this land.”

“It's close to the river, so it's probably part of the state park.” Hermie leaned on a rock, waiting for Marc to make a decision about Bluedog.

“I guess it doesn't matter who owns this land right now. I know Bluedog doesn't care.” Marc lay back down and spoke into the hole. “Stay, Blue. Stay right there. We'll be back in a little while. We have to go get some rope.”

“Think she'll stay?” Eddie asked, as they headed for their bikes.

“Sure. Where would she go? She can't see any better than we could down there with no light. I wonder if we can get her out.” Marc turned the problem over and over in his mind. He'd have to go in and help her. No way could they toss a rope down there and say, “Bluedog, climb up this rope.” He almost smiled at the idea.

“Would your dad—?”

“I don't know.” Marc stopped Hermie's question. He had no idea if his father would help them. Marc could never predict his moods lately, and he felt uncomfortable around him. Surely his dad wouldn't want Bluedog to be left there, but since he didn't seem to care about Marc anymore, maybe he wouldn't care about Bluedog either. “Let's go get my ropes. I think this is up to us.” Marc decided not to approach his dad. They'd get Bluedog out themselves.

They scrambled to their feet, and Marc looked back to make sure he could recognize the spot again. It was totally hidden and, except for a couple of bent-over branches, looked undisturbed. It was far enough from the path to the river that no one would happen by and find it or hear Bluedog if she barked again. She didn't bark often, just when she was awfully excited or wanted something. Marc knew she wanted out of that hole really badly, but it was going to take some time. He sure hoped he and Hermie and Eddie could manage it alone.

6

T
ROUBLE WITH
M
OONEY
A
GAIN

Marc's house was an insurance agency in the front, with the living space in the back. It sat on the northeast corner of the square. He had always liked living right in town. That way he didn't miss much. The boys turned their bikes into the driveway, skidded to a stop, and jumped off beside the back fence.

Their Chevy was home, but there were two cars parked in front, too. Marc hoped they were both customers who would keep his dad busy. They only needed time enough to get in, get some gear, and get out. Marc figured if his dad didn't see him, he wouldn't ask any questions. In fact, these days, Marc felt that if his father wasn't forced to see him occasionally at meals, he wouldn't remember Marc existed. And there were times when that was okay. This was definitely one of those times.

Marc had never done any cave exploring on his own. If his father did happen into the back of the house and see them carrying ropes, he would ask questions. Marc cautioned Eddie and Hermie to be quiet. He wasn't going to leave Bluedog in that cave all night.

They got into Marc's room, into his closet, and found the coils of rope he and his dad used for climbing when they went spelunking. Before Mama got sick, they had explored only a couple of caves where they'd had to do any technical climbing. But since January, Marc's dad had lost interest in everything. All their equipment was stored either in the back of Marc's closet or in the shed outside. Marc picked up his big three-cell flashlight, hoping the batteries were still good. He tested it. Yep, seemed strong.

“If we're going down there anyway, we might as well explore some—don't you agree, Hermie?” Marc was getting goose bumps as he handled the ropes and thought ahead.

“Wait, Marc.” Hermie put up both hands. “You know I've never done this before. I don't think I want to do it now. I'm not built for wiggling around through underground tunnels in rock.”

“If you get stuck, you'll have to stay until you lose weight.” Eddie laughed.

“A good reason for dieting, you have to admit,” Marc added.

“I don't want to go on a diet,” Hermie said.

“I won't go anywhere you can't follow,” Marc promised. He hoisted the rope to his shoulder, putting his light and some candles in his backpack. Then they tiptoed out the back door. Marc looked into the backyard. The memory of Bluedog there, wiggling desperately, made him even firmer in his resolve to get her out of the hole and bring her home today.

“Shouldn't we tell someone where we're going?” Hermie suggested as they reached their bikes and took off without Marc's father seeing them. “Isn't that the safe thing to do?

“We won't go that far into the cave today,” Marc decided. Hermie was right. They should leave a note. But Marc didn't want to. He wanted this to be his cave until he got ready to share it. Maybe his dad would feel proud of a son who discovered a new cave. Maybe this would make him pay attention to Marc like he used to. He'd say, “Marc, I need a guide through your cave. Will you take me in?” Marc would forgive him for forgetting he had a son. He'd say, “Sure, Dad, no charge.”

Out on the street, they ran out of luck. There was Howard Moon again, and his buddy, Otis. Otis Kruger was a tall, skinny guy who looked like a skeleton barely covered with flesh. You could practically see bones moving under his skin. And his skin was white, except where it was pasted together with freckles.

Darn the luck. Didn't Mooney and Kruger have anything better to do than hang around in town?

“Hey, you guys back already? What are you fixing to do now?” Mooney saw the ropes. There was no way they could hide them.

“We're going to practice rappelling over on the bluffs,” Marc said, hoping Mooney believed him. There was one good limestone face where climbers practiced near the river.

“Why don't I believe you, Schaller? You wouldn't lie to your old buddy Moon, would you?”

Marc had never been buddies with Howard Moon, and he didn't plan to start a friendship now. “Maybe you think I'd lie because you know how much of a liar you are, Mooney.” Marc motioned for Hermie and Eddie, and they started pedaling up the highway, slowly, as if they had all day. But they didn't, and a slow pace was frustrating. It must be getting near three o'clock. If they stayed out past dinnertime one of their parents would surely ask questions.

“Don't look now, Marc, but you didn't discourage them.” Eddie scowled. “I told you ignoring them wouldn't work.”

“What'll we do?” Hermie looked to Marc for an answer. Mooney and Otis followed at a leisurely pace.

The rope Marc carried was heavy. He didn't want to lug it all the way down to the river, pretend they were going to climb, then lug it back. Besides, they didn't have that much time. But Marc wasn't going to let Mooney and Otis in on the cave. He didn't know what might come of it, but it was their discovery. Well, actually, it was Bluedog's.

“Let's lose them,” he decided.

“How? We can't get that far ahead.”

“We'll split up. You take off through the woods just around this curve, Hermie. Eddie and I might be able to outride them. Hide your bike and make your way to the cave. We'll get there when we can. But whatever you do, don't let anyone see you.”

“I'll try,” Hermie promised.

They rounded the curve. Hermie spun out and fell into the gravel on the shoulder of the road. That wasn't in the plan, but Marc hoped Hermie's spill was as good as hiding. He pumped to catch up with Eddie.

Sure enough, Mooney yelled, “What's the matter, Hermie-child? Can't you keep up?” Mooney laughed, but he and Otis kept following Eddie and Marc. Hermie could make good his escape.

Marc pulled ahead and whispered the plan to Eddie. They took off as if it was the race of the year. The mountain road was curvy, winding around and around. They hustled up the next climb. At full speed, they flew down the other side of the hill. Rounding a curve, Marc glanced back.

“We're hidden for a few seconds,” Marc called to Eddie. “Let's jump.”

Marc's hands slipped on the black rubber handlebar grips. He could feel the sweat pouring down his back.

“Now!” he yelled. He zipped onto a grassy verge, leaping off his bike. The coil of rope swung, slapping his waist, and he nearly fell. He pulled his bike into a hidden pocket of trees and looked back. Eddie wasn't with him. He'd altered the plan. He'd kept going as bait for Mooney and Otis. Eddie was the best rider. His bike was new. Maybe his plan would work. But this split them up three ways.

Voices told Marc that Mooney knew he was their leader. He and Otis had stopped, at least long enough to decide what to do, who to follow.

Taking advantage of their indecision, Marc pushed his bike out of the hiding place. He was grateful for the wet ground that softened the noise of his escape. But it would also leave easy tracks to follow. Lifting his bike, he took off into the brush. He swished downhill, making a path where none existed. He ignored the briars that tore at his jeans and snatched at the rope and the bike—blackberries in the fall, a nuisance now.

He got a small break. A tiny stream with a bed of rocks cut north and downhill. He ran his bike through the water, soaking his shoes and pants to the knee. But it was easier than trying to get through the brush. The stream would also hide tracks and any mashing down of grass or undergrowth. A good Indian could still follow him easily, but he hoped Mooney was lazy enough to give up.

The woods took Marc in like an old friend. It was cool and quiet. Before long he left the stream and slid his bike behind a huge rock that was surrounded by young hickory trees. Even if Mooney found Marc now, he wouldn't find the cave. Marc would laugh, and say, “I give.” For a minute he collapsed beside the rock, taking deep breaths of the air, scented by crushed mint. His clothes were so wet he felt as if he were in a sweat lodge. Mosquitoes whined around his head. He swatted them silently.

He crouched, his back against the rock, until the woods got noisy again, telling him no one had followed. A hermit thrush warbled its robin-like melody. A mockingbird landed on top of the rock, cocked its head, and looked down at Marc. Then it took off, startled by a human visitor. Marc smiled and knew he had escaped successfully. Now if he could only find his way to the cave from here, he was in business.

He waited another fifteen minutes for good measure. A skink sensed him, froze on the rocks and wet leaves, then scurried away at lizard speed.

When he stood, shaking the needle pricks from his foot where it had gone to sleep, he studied his hiding place carefully. If he was going to leave his bike here, he wanted to be sure he could find it. He'd go back up the stream and mark where it started.

Marc cursed Mooney again. Why'd he have to complicate Marc's life like this? He knew he'd never find the cave if he cut cross-country. He'd have to risk going closer to the road and following it to where the path to the bluffs started downward. If Mooney was waiting there, they'd never get Bluedog out before dark.

It took him a half hour of tracing and retracing his steps, getting his bearings and hiking carefully, before he made his way safely to the cave entrance. The rope felt like a coil of braided lead on his shoulder. He was wet through. Maybe it would have been easier to carry the rope down to the river, wait out Mooney's patience, then take it back to the cave. Too late now to make that decision. Marc sighed and looked around. Hermie and Eddie were no place in sight.

“Where've you been?” Eddie appeared like a ghost from behind the clump of rocks.

“How'd you get ahead of me?” Marc asked.

“Those guys gave up easily,” Eddie boasted. “I hid and waited them out, then rode my bike back to the cutoff.”

“Me too.” Hermie stepped from behind the other side of the rock. “You have trouble?”

Marc thought of all the trouble he'd gone to, pretending half a tribe of hostile Osage were behind him. All he could do was shake his head and grin. “Some.”