looked more like blood than tears.
"Dead end," George said after they had walked for a time. The area seemed to have suffered a cave in. Boulders and rubble sealed the shaft.
"Can't be." Jimmy, not willing to give up the adventure when it had only begun, hunted the shadows for another way. George stood right where he was without moving, not wanting to touch or see anything unsavory. At this point, he'd be happy enough just to turn around and go home.
"Hey, swing the light this way," Jimmy said.
On his knees at the apparent dead end, Jimmy craned his head under a teetering rock. Near the floor, concealed by tumbled-over debris, the cavern picked up again under the rubble, sloping at an even steeper grade into the earth.
"That doesn't look right." Doesn't look one bit safe , he thought.
"The shaft gets bigger." His earlier reluctance was gone. He once again bustled with excitement. "Listen… that water is louder. Sounds like a falls to me."
Jimmy had a point. It might not be a waterfall, but it sounded like a heavier flow than the trickle they'd seen so far. "All right. You first."
George crouched low, holding the lantern inside the opening, lighting the way as Jimmy crawled ahead. "Kinda slick. The floor's covered in moss. And it stinks like cowshit." Jimmy didn't seem fazed at all.
"Great. Can't wait." George followed his friend, followed him when he had a feeling he shouldn't. It was the story of their friendship.
The damp moss soaked their clothes. With the steepness of the shaft, it was a minor miracle they reached a plateau without slipping the whole way down. Once again on level ground, the limestone ceiling was high enough to stand without hunching. The shaft opened into an extensive alcove. The twisting path led them to a body of water with a surface so smooth and dark it could've been a pane of cobalt glass.
"Shit," George whispered, his breath stolen by the sight.
Water fell from high up near the ceiling--so high the lantern only hinted at the source--to a limestone spillway. The slab, as big as a church altar, dispersed the falling water. When it dribbled into the lake, it barely dimpled the surface.
"This has got to be it. Shit is right. Let's drop our lines." Jimmy approached the water and set down his tackle. He yanked the barbed hook from the pole's cork handle, and with the line already carrying a tied-off bobber, flipped his wrist and the bobber went flying.
"You haven't baited your hook." George approached the water with caution. While he didn't truly believe Greta's stories, it was better to be safe than sorry.
"I know. Just want to see how deep it is. You can tell by the sound when it hits the water." The hook and bobber had made a thick, thoomping splash. The water was deep. Cranking the reel to pull in the line, the metal gears sounded incredibly loud. "Get me some bread. I guess that'll have to do. Wish we'd had time to dig night crawlers."
George took the hunk of bread from his tackle box and broke off two pieces. They baited their hooks and cast their lines in opposite directions, not wanting to tangle in the near-dark.
They sat side by side, the lantern lit and warm between them. They had no luck for quite a while, and the more time went by without any sign of White Bane, the more George felt at ease. It was a foolish story, anyway. A catfish lunging from the water in order to prey on kids? Just an old story to make sure kids didn't explore the abandoned coalmines marring the Illinois prairie. He imagined every coal town had a similar tale.
"Don't matter if we catch him, I'm going to ask out Betty Harris regardless." George didn't take his eyes from his line. He dipped the pole, dancing the bobber on the cold black surface. His voice softened, becoming sheepish, "Then I'm going to marry her. Well, some day."
"Good for you. She's a nice girl. Tit's are a little big, more like a cow's than a girl's, but hey, whatever you like you like, right?"
"Jackass."
"I'm just kidding. I'm happy