The Darrows had reached a rampart arch in the downslope of the ramp. Here they could stand almost level. And here they paused to gape.

The barrel-shaped cavern ceiling rolled up and up over them. It was half a football field long. High up, on all sides, hung Persian carpets and rich tapestries. Their colors glowed in the flame light of Mr. Pluto’s torches, grouped in the center. On the cavern floor between the hangings were whole painted canoes and finely crafted totem poles. Tens upon tens of bureaus and breakfronts, inlaid with delicate woods, had drawers packed with small treasures. There were scores of barrels bursting with silken and embroidered materials set in rows between canoes and poles. Riches spilled from kegs and crates—gold coins and gold watches, pearls and other jewelry that sparkled and nearly blinded their eyes. The astonishing hoard went on and on, practically as far as the eye could see.

Thomas thought he saw light and mist in Darrow’s eyes as River Lewis came closer. But Darrow blinked again twice, and the glinting was gone.

Through the corridors of grandeur and wealth walked several strangers. There was the whir and click of a camera, a flash of light. A man and woman came up the ramp toward the Darrows. The man had been taking photographs of the cavern wealth for half an hour. Now he was ready to take shots of these new people making their way down. The Darrow men were tall, light-skinned, and rather sinister-looking. In their astonishment they made quite a picture.

“You’re Mr. River Lewis Darrow?” the woman said, keeping her voice down. Everybody looked up at Darrow. “I’m a reporter, Nancy Enders, from the Springville Star. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Darrow.” The woman extended her palm. River Lewis shook her hand mechanically up and down twice.

“This is my photographer, Jeremy Johns,” she said. “Could you tell us what you think about your wife’s helping to discover this cavern?” She pushed a key of her tape recorder and held the recorder out toward River Lewis.

Darrow stared at the woman in disbelief. It was then that Mr. Small spoke quickly before River Lewis had time to think.

“Morning, Mr. Darrow,” he said pleasantly, as though he greeted Darrow every day. He moved closer as Darrow took a step back in surprise at the greeting.

“There are people from the area newspaper here,” Walter Small said. “I expect there will be more later. They’ll all want to talk to you. And the folks over there are the people who run the foundation that owns Drear property. They are looking over all the treasure.”

Right on that Mr. Pluto spoke, came forward with Mattie, his hand at her elbow. The gold she had held in her hands was now magically on the grand desk. There sparkled a discreet pile of nuggets, pretty and golden as you please.

“Wouldn’t you know it would happen like this?” Pluto was saying, nearly in a whisper. He knew it was what he wouldn’t say, the words he left out, that would make his point to Darrow. “And like nobody, Mattie come in, and stare at that wall of my cave. I stare at that wall every day. She look at me; I look at her. Something about that wall we see different. Wouldn’t you know it would happen like that? So unexpected, out of the blue! That wall move, and ... all this here.”

There. He said his part. It was only part little white lie or even part huge lie. There were places left out between the words he’d said. It didn’t matter that later Darrow might realize again what he always knew: that it would take considerable time to discover a great treasure. For now it was over. All of it gone, the enormous cavern, all taken from him Pluto, and Darrow, too, for that matter. Pluto wouldn’t protest, wouldn’t make a fuss over what Mr. Small had done. How could he? I’m an old man, Pluto thought. I’ve no real right to the property, the treasure-house.

Mr. Small had convinced him that a cave-in could happen, that the great cavern belonged truly to—what had Small called it?—“posterity,” the future of them all.

Mayhew will take care of me. He’s my own son, doing well for himself now. But I’ve never had to depend on someone. Never!

Tall and lean, Mayhew Skinner, Mr. Pluto’s son, moved to the other side of his father from Mattie and put his arm around him. He saw the gloom spread over Pluto’s face. “Hey, it’s okay, don’t worry,” he murmured to his father. Mayhew had known Darrows all his life. Even when he had moved away from Drear land and the town, he’d never forgotten them and had kept tabs on them. Mattie Darrow had always been strange, always out of place. But he’d thought kindly of her because his father had cared about her welfare and what she cared about—keeping safe the underground. Now Mayhew tightened his hand on his father’s shoulder as a comfort. There was a grim, faint smile on his lips. His eyes glinted hard yet amused at River Lewis and his “boys”—grown men, all.

Thomas watched the scene unfold, transfixed by the sight of so many people, friend and foe and even strangers. The daring of his father’s plan was just so fantastic. It all was happening the way it was supposed to happen.

Thomas went up the ramp a few feet, and for the first time he wasn’t nervous around Darrows. He walked around the Darrow men to stand next to Pesty, right by Macky. He folded his arms and held his head high.

“It’s the only way,” he remembered his papa’s telling Mayhew last night. “We bring Darrow inside the cavern. Up front where everybody can see him.”

“But why?” Mayhew demanded to know.

“Because”—Thomas had said; his papa’s plan made good sense to him—“the best place to keep a secret safe is to bring it and the enemy of it out in the open. That way there can’t be harm in either of them ever again.”

“Mr. Darrow,” the reporter was saying, “can we get a picture of you and your wife … and Pluto—er, Mr. Skinner?” She had not waited for Darrow to answer her first question. Seeing that he was so stunned by all the people and commotion, the great cavern itself, she had asked this next question of him. She smiled and politely pulled Mr. Pluto with Mattie Darrow over to River Lewis. She placed them so Mattie stood between Pluto and Darrow. Darrow was like a pillar of stone that couldn’t be moved. Mayhew stood close by, not trusting Darrow near his father.

Mattie stared into River Lewis’s face. “You stand on my side,” she told him. He looked at her, confused but realizing why she was there. His face worked in dismay. His eyes had blackened in anger and grief as he surveyed what he’d lost. His own wife had helped in the great discovery. More’s the pity!

Great balls afire! he raged inside. Here was what he’d longed for most of his life, and his father before him, and his before him. His poor Mattie was in on it, too! And they taken it from me. They!

Wasn’t going to be his at all!

It ain’t fair! Inside, River Lewis moaned in sorrowing anger. Damn your soul, Walter Small, you and your do-right!

Cameras flashed, clicked. The reporter wouldn’t go away. She had tried to interview Mattie and had found her impossible. Now she really had to have answers to a few things more from the husband, at least, to round out her story. All these people, living half in the light and out.

“What do you think you and your wife will do with her part of the reward?” she asked. “The foundation states it is considering seriously giving a reward to the discoverers of the treasure.”

Darrow tried to hide his shock at the news. “Have to think about that,” he mumbled, fidgeting there in the limelight. But it was clear from the gleam in his eyes that a reward of money had caught his attention.

A moment later Mr. Small asked everyone to leave the cavern. “There’s more to be seen,” he announced in a quiet voice to everyone. He started up the ramp past Darrows, leading the way. He talked softly as he went, like a museum guide with a sore throat, Thomas thought. “Granted, the next discovery is not as grand and rich as this formidable place,” he continued. “Yet its history is very significant all the same.” He hoped that no one would notice he’d not said who had made the next discovery. No need to get Mattie involved again. “There’s a story of an Indian maiden in these parts”—he hurried on—”and the tale is connected to another natural underground area.”