"Why, Will must remember if he once gets his mind off that miserable old camera of his. It's the shaft of what was intended to be a mine," replied Jerry, with disgust plainly marked in his tones.
"A mine—and here? I never heard of it!" echoed Frank.
"That's because you are a newcomer in Centerville. Years ago—oh! I couldn't say how many—a crank lived in the little hut close by, now occupied by the family of a lumberman. He believed there was gold in this region. For nearly a year he dug down and made this shaft. Then he died in his cabin, and no one else ever had faith enough in the thing to continue the work," said Will, chiming in.
"What! do you mean to say this hole in the ground has gone all these years as a trap, ready to swallow any pilgrim who walked along this trail?" demanded Frank.
"Why, of course not. The boys from town often used to come up here. Will has been down in this hole, and so have I before. It was covered, with heavy planks then. Somebody has removed those boards and laid a fine trap. Just like we were over in Africa, among the wild-beast catchers. And I fell in, worse luck," grumbled the boy at the bottom of the shaft.
