The Great Brain by John D. Fitzgerald

Jensen and five other men each carrying a lighted lantern and holding on to the rope, they all disappeared into the passageway leading to the smaller chamber in the cave.
    I lay on my stomach on the big boulder and watched with a feeling of horror as the spliced coil of rope began to slowly unwind. Deeper and deeper into the cave the search party went as the rope continued to uncoil. And finally the end of the rope tied to the boulder by Uncle Mark became taut.
    “That is as far as they can go,” Sweyn said.
    “They will have to get more rope,” Tom said, “so they can go deeper into the cave.”
    Sweyn turned his head. “I guess that is why Papa is coming up the ridge with Bishop Aden,” he said.
    I turned around and saw Papa with the Mormon bishop, whose long beard appeared pure white when contrasted with the wide-brimmed black hat the Mormon bishop always wore. I didn’t understand what Sweyn meant.
    “What has Papa being with Bishop Aden got to do with getting more rope?” I asked.
    “They will have to get more rope from Cedar City, and the Z.C.M.I. store there is probably the only place that carries it,” Sweyn answered.
    “How come they’ve only got stores owned by the Mormon Church in Utah?” I asked.
    “Shucks, J.D.,” Tom said, “there are other stores in the larger towns and in the cities.”
    “How come they don’t have any in the squall towns?” I asked.
    “Because the people who live in small towns are mostly Mormons,” Tom said, “and the Mormons must give their business to a store owned by their church.”
    We watched Papa and Bishop Aden enter the entrance chamber of the cave, where they stood waiting until the search party returned. The men in the search party came through the passageway leading to the smaller chamber just the opposite of the order they went in, with Mr. Jensen in the lead and Uncle Mark coming out last. They had left the rope in the cave and found their way back by following it. Uncle Mark put down his lantern and gave an order we couldn’t hear. I watched as several men began pulling the rope from the cave and coiling it. Then Uncle Mark began talking to Papa and Bishop Aden.
    Tom looked up at the sun. “It’s time for lunch,” he said.
    Papa arrived home just a few minutes after we did. He appeared to be worried. He just pecked at his homemade sausages and mashed potatoes and gravy.
    “Bishop Aden sent a telegram to Cedar City this morning,” he told Mamma. “They sent a wire back saying they would send all the rope they have on hand at the Z.C.M.I. store there. They are sending it by team and wagon rather than wait for the next train. It should arrive here this afternoon.
    “Is there any hope?” Mamma asked.
    “There is always hope,” Papa said, “but Mark told us the passageways after you get into the cave aways run out in all directions. It is going to take time to explore them all. I can’t help blaming myself in a way.”
    “But why?” Mamma asked.
    “As editor and publisher of the Adenville Weekly Advocate I should have demanded in editorials a long time ago that the entrance to the cave be dynamited shut,” Papa said.
    My two brothers and I were back on top of the boulder on Cedar Ridge when the wagonload of rope arrived from Cedar City that afternoon. The team pulling the wagon was covered with lather and had been driven hard. There were eight bales of rope in the wagon. We watched the rope being unloaded and spliced to the other rope and then coiled until the one continuous piece of rope made a large pile in the big chamber of the cave.
    “With those eight bales,” Tom said, “added to the other six bales, the search party can now penetrate a distance of seven thousand feet into the cave. That is more than a mile.”
    “We aren’t going to be able to watch it,” Sweyn said. “By the time we get home and do our chores it will be time for supper.”
    Mamma made us go to bed at our usual time that night despite our protests. The next