THIS IS THE PLACE

Finally, they sat down on a mossy outcropping of rock, And Thomas opened his knapsack. Jon had just finished a sandwich and was halfway through an apple when he suddenly whispered, "The Doe- she's near!"

All morning he had known that many wild creatures were watching them from a distance, and several times he had seen the deer go bounding away. He had not tried to call to them. But aware of a friend, he spoke silently, urging her to come nearer. She refused.

"What doe?" Thomas whispered. "I don't see-"

"She's way up yonder to the right- the one I followed on Saturday. She knows me, but she won't come out. She's afraid of you. Mr. Pitts shot at her and hurt her, it wasn't a bad hurt because I spoilt his aim but it makes her very afraid."

Thomas growled under his breath, "Had an idea something like that happened. That Gilby Pitts!"

"I couldn't tell you at the time-I didn't yet know the words. Anyway, we're getting close, Mr. Bean. The doe proves it."

"But I don't see how. These deer range for miles over the mountains."

"Yes, but she has a fawn that can't travel far, and she's still on the trail she used on Saturday, only higher up. There are some-some vines she eats when she can't get anything else."

"Wild Honeysuckle. Do you know the direction of Gilby's land from here?"

"Of course. It's straight over yonder." Jon pointed. "But we'll have to go way around, then curve to the left."

"Let's get going! I don't know how you keep these directions straight, but with a head such as you have, I suppose . . ."

They found the doe's trail easily, and now Jon led the way. For Thomas Bean, the next half hour was difficult. Many times Little Jon had to help him over tumbled faces of rock, slippery with green moss and running water. When they reached better ground, Thomas glanced back and grumbled, "I'm a fair mountain man in spite of my foot-but when we head for home, it won't be that way."

"We won't have to, sir. The road's much closer from here. We turn left–north. Oh-I know this place! Yonder's where I first saw the doe."

He darted ahead, suddenly excited, and then stopped to look slowly about him, searching.

"Was it here?" asked Thomas, limping over to him.

"It must be, It's where . . . no, there was a spring. I drank from it. After that I crawled . . ."

"There are all springs all around here. You say you crawled-from where?"

"It was from a sort of dark place."

"You mean a cave?"

"It must have been. I hadn't realized till now-but there's no cave here."

"Let's try higher up," said Thomas, starting upward through a tangle of Rhododendrons. "There seems to be a ledge . . ."

There was a ledge. And there was a break in the strata, marking what seemed to be a shallow cave behind the tangle. Near the mouth of it, water trickled into a small pool.

"This is the place!" Jon cried. "I drank from the spring–see the marks of my hands? I woke up in there, where it's flat."

They crawled inside. Thomas took a flashlight from his knapsack and sent the beam slowly about. As they crawled in, the cave started to expand. The cave was much larger than it appeared from the entrance.

"There's been a fall of rock in here recently, Jon. Funny looking stuff. Looks Igneous but only on one side."

"Igneous?"

"Volcanic. But no volcanic ever melted this." He chipped experimentally with his hammer. "It's what we call metamorphic granite, an old, old rock that's changing. And something has seared one side of it, a long time. I'll be jiggered!"

Thomas went farther back and straightened up. Striking a detective pose, he said

"This place looks like the inside of a bottle. We've certainly found something but don't ask me what. Think, Jon! Think about that door idea! Could this be part of it?"

"I-I don't know, sir. This place, it makes me feel sort of–tingly all over, as if something . . . but I can't yet remember."

He was aware of Thomas Bean's rising excitement as he chipped off flakes of fallen rock and examined them, beaming with a smile that looked just like the smile on a three-year old when given a lot of candy. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Thomas thrust the pieces into his knapsack and turned the light on his pocket watch. It was later than either of them had realized.

"Pshaw!" Thomas growled. "Hate to leave–but it'll be nearly dark when we get back, and there are things to do. We'll return first in the morning."

They left reluctantly, their thoughts leaping as they talked of their discovery. As shadows deepened in the forest, they fell silent and began to hurry. Jon led the way, following the doe's trail to the valley. At the fence he turned, skirting Gilby Pitts's land, and went through the words to the creek.

He crossed the creek as before, though not until he had made sure that no one was around to see him.

The truck was several hundred yards around the bend ahead. They were in sight of it when Jon heard a car approaching. It was almost inaudible above the clatter of the creek, yet his sharp ears recognized the sound. He clutched Thomas's arm in sudden uneasiness.

"Mr. Bush is coming," he said. "I–I ought to hide."

"There's no reason to. He's already met you. What makes you afraid?"

"I don't know. Something . . ."

There was no place to hide here. The Creek fell away on their left, and on their right the rocky slope rose sharply. And suddenly the car with the star on the side was swinging around a curve.

It slowed as it came near them, And . . .