"A handle!" cried Ralph.
"That is what it is," said Captain Horn. "If it is intended to be lifted,
I ought to be able to do it. Move down a little with the lantern, and
give me room."
The captain now stood on the top of the mound, with the slab between his
feet, and stooping down, he took hold of the handle with both hands. He
was a powerful man, but he could not lift the stone. His first effort,
however, loosened it, and then he began to move it from side to side,
still pulling upward, until at last he could feel it rising. Then, with
a great heave, he lifted it entirely out of the square aperture in which
it had been fitted, and set it on one side.
In an instant, Ralph, lantern in hand, was gazing down into the
opening. "Hello!" he cried, "there is something on fire in there. Oh,
no," he added quickly, correcting himself, "it's only the reflection
from our light."
CHAPTER XII
A TRADITION AND A WAISTCOAT
Captain Horn, his face red with exertion and excitement, stood gazing
down into the square aperture at his feet. On the other edge of the
opening knelt Ralph, holding the lantern so that it would throw its light
into the hole. In a moment, before the boy had time to form a question,
he was pushed gently to one side, and his sister Edna, who had clambered
up the side of the mound, knelt beside him. She peered down into the
depths beneath, and then she drew back and looked up at the captain.
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