He repeated the call several times without response.
"It may be the younker is asleep, or, if he hears me, he may take me fur Motoza; and yet that couldn't be, for our voices don't sound alike." Once more he produced his rubber safe and struck a match, holding the twinkling flame above his head as he slowly moved forward into the cavern.

Before the light expired he had another, for he intended to make his search thorough.
The opening in the side of the canyon had a width of ten or twelve feet, was of the same height, and extended back for more than double the distance.

Side, floor and roof were of irregular formation, and the craggy stones rough and wet.

Had there been any gleaming stalactites or stalagmites in sight, the cause of the legend attaching to the place would have been understood, but there was nothing of that nature.

The cavern was simply a rent in the side of the canyon wall, created by some convulsion of nature, and all that was visible was damp limestone.
By the time the visitor had burned three matches his examination of the place was completed and he had made the discovery that he was the only occupant.