CHAPTER VII.

TWO BRAVE LADS AT BAY.

"Are you there, Sandy?"

Through the darkness in the hold of the tug, in which they were confined (and which had recently been the place of Tom's captivity), Jack's voice reached the Scotch lad.

"I dinna ken. But I think so," he responded cautiously. "Some of me's here, anyhow. Whist, Jack, we're in a tight place."

"And a dark one, too," said Jack gloomily.

"What d'ye think they'll do wi' us?"

"I have no notion. But what they have done already gives a sufficient idea of what they are capable of. There may be bigger rascals on earth than this outfit, but I don't know where you'd look for them."

"By the peak of Ben Nevis, that was a dire crack on the head that Captain Mangler gave me when they attacked us in that lumber yard."

"His name's Rangler—though 'Mangler' would about fit him," rejoined Jack. "They didn't strike me, but just picked me up and stifled my cries—just as I was going to the rescue of the poor professor, too, I fear they may have killed him."

"I dinna think so. But I hope he is not on board this tug."

"Why?"

"Because, if he is, there'll be no one left behind to give a clue as to our whereabouts."

"Even if they could, I don't see what good it would do," was the gloomy rejoinder. "Poor Tom's still missing, and——"

"Whist, lad! Dinna be downcast. Tom will turn oop—like a bad penny—not that he is one, but in a manner of speaking. I'm sure he's all right. He will look out for himself and rescue us, too, I'll bet ye a siller bit."

"I hope you are right, Sandy, but this is surely a disastrous ending to what promised to be a pleasure trip."

"There's a linin' of bonnie gold to every cloud," comforted the philosophical Sandy. "But," he added with Scotch candor, "I'm blessed if I can see aught but the cloud the noo'."

There was silence for a time.

"Let's explore this place a bit," suggested Jack presently.

"Too dark," responded Sandy, "we might fall into some trap-door or hole."

"We can feel our way with our hands—oh!" and Jack almost laughed at his mistake—"mine are handcuffed."

"Mine, too, but I hadna' forgotten the fact," said Sandy dryly.

"I suppose, then, we must wait here till somebody comes."

"I guess that's aboot it. It's no' vera cheerful, but it can't be helped, as the man said when they were gangin' to hang him."

The vibration of the propeller of the tug could be plainly felt. The whole craft shook with it. It was clear that all the speed possible was being crowded on.

The heat, too, grew almost stifling. The hold was back of the boiler room, in which forced draught was being kept up, while the steam-gauges showed a pressure almost up to bursting point. Walstein and Dampier, after safely gaining the tug, following the chase through the lumber yard, had decided to lose no time in putting all the distance possible between themselves and Rockport. Their joyful reception of the news that, although they had lost Tom Dacre, his place had been taken by his brother Jack, may be imagined. Sandy they did not care so much about. They did not know that his father was quite as rich—or richer—than Chisholm Dacre. But both had been warm in their congratulations to Captain Rangler on what they deemed his clever capture.

"Phew-w-w-w! This place is like a furnace," observed Jack, after another silence of some duration. "How about you, Sandy?"

"It's hot, all right. I'd give a whole lot for a drink of water. I feel as dry as a stale loaf of bread."

"Talking of bread, I wonder if they mean to starve us or let us die of thirst?"

"Impossible to tell. I dinna ken what they mean to do. I suppose they are capable of anything."

"Yes, the inhuman ruffians! But what is worrying me is, that, supposing they don't mean to starve us, or let us die of thirst, what do they mean to do with us?"

The question was a puzzling one.

"If they don't kill us, they'll have to keep us with them all the time," said Sandy gloomily, after a while.

"Maybe they'll maroon us, like they did down in the tropics. There are plenty of islands in this part of Lake Huron."

"Yes, but this isn't an untraveled region, like it was down there. In course of time we should be picked up."

"Hum! Yes, that's so. Tell you what, Sandy, if we get a chance to escape, we'll make for some island and hide there till an opportunity comes to get off."

"Jack, do you recall that island where the ghost was snoopin' around? Ye ken the one I mean?"

"Do I? I should say so. Well, that was as tight a scrape as this, but we got out of it, all right."

"So we did," agreed Sandy, cheering up, and with almost a lively ring in his tones, "and that fix was our own fault, too. If we hadn't tried tricks on the professor and got tied to that turtle, we wouldn't have been marooned."

"Well, in this case we haven't even the satisfaction of blaming ourselves," whimsically remarked Jack.

The hours wore slowly away. At first the long wait in the darkness was merely tedious. Then it began to grow painful, and at length, such were the boys' thirst and hunger and suffering from the intense heat, that they went almost crazy.

Work as they would at their bonds, they could not loosen them. The steel bracelets resisted all efforts to unfasten them. To make matters worse, when the lads flung themselves wearily down to try and pass the interminable hours in the forgetfulness of sleep, they found that they were not the sole tenants of the hold.

Huge rats presently began scampering about. The creatures at first rushed off when the boys cried "Scat!" But, after a time, they grew bolder, and came in legions. The lads could hear their squeakings and bickerings as they nosed about them. It was truly a horrible sensation. Little red eyes, like needlepoints of fire, burned through the darkness, and Jack recalled tales he had read of prisoners whose bones had been picked of flesh by the loathsome rodents.

"They'd find us tough picking," laughed Sandy, when Jack communicated his fears, but in his easy manner the Scotch lad concealed a world of real, almost desperate, anxiety.

Their position was plainly growing more and more untenable. Already their heads felt as if they would burst from the intense heat and stuffiness of the hold. Then, too, their long fast had made them weak. Queer buzzings sounded in their ears. Shapes, that they knew were unreal, flitted through the darkness, like forms compounded of greenish, luminous smoke.

And still the tug raced along. The roar of her laboring engines filled the little craft, making her quiver from stem to stern.

"Wonder where on earth she can be?" thought Jack, in a dull sort of semi-stupid voice.

"I dinna ken, an' before long it willna' matter to us, anyhow," was Sandy's miserable response. All his fund of hopefulness had vanished.

As if in mockery at his words, the rats squeaked louder than ever as he uttered them. Their little bright eyes darted here and there in the darkness before the boys' swimming vision, like thousands of crazy fireflies. Clearly, if help did not come soon, there would be two less among the company the tug was carrying across Lake Huron, at racing speed.

CHAPTER VIII.

A TOUR OF EXPLORATION.

"Hullo, the motion of the tug seems to have stopped."

The thought filtered dully through Sandy's benumbed mind. For some minutes, indeed, the speed had been sensibly slackening, but in the lads' deplorable circumstances, they were neither of them in a condition to be speedily aware of the fact.

"Jack! Jack!" hailed Sandy, eager to announce his news. But no answer came out of the darkness. Poor Jack lay unconscious on the floor of the hold. He had given way under the strain and stifling heat.

Sandy guessed as much, when he got no reply. The realization of Jack's condition acted as a tonic to him. Summoning up every one of his dormant faculties, the lad resolved on a last effort.

Reckless of the consequences, if there were any trap-doors or holes in the floors of the hold, he plunged forward into the velvety darkness. He could hear the patter-patter of myriads of tiny rat feet as he did so, but the Scotch lad was long past caring for that. The fighting instinct of a race of fighting ancestors was fully aroused in him. He felt that it would have taken half a dozen men to stop him.

Bump! Without warning, Sandy had suddenly blundered up against what seemed to be a solid wall.

"Well, here's something, at any rate," he mused to himself. "Now, if I can only find a door in it, I'll fling myself against it and make such a racket that they'll be bound to come down, unless they are made of steel and iron instead of flesh and blood."

Then began what seemed an eternity of groping. Raising his handcuffed wrists, Sandy felt for a chink in the smooth bulkhead. Quite as suddenly as he had collided with the wall, his fingers encountered a crack.

"Eureka!" exclaimed the boy. "I guess this is what I want."

As well as he could judge, after a brief examination, the crack extended clear to the floor of the hold.

"It must be a door," thought Sandy. And then:

"Now for it," he murmured.

With a blood-curdling yell, he flung his form against the bulkhead.

The next instant he was lying flat on his face.

The door against which he had flung himself had opened smoothly and noiselessly, and the strenuous force of Sandy's shove had carried him, with a crash, into what seemed to be a cabin.

For a few seconds he was past caring what the place was. He just lay there in the light, pumping his lungs full of blessed fresh air.

"Phew! If my lungs aren't saying 'thank you, kind master,' this very instant, they're an ungrateful pair of organs," said the whimsical Scotch lad, half aloud.

The cabin was empty and sparsely furnished. But on deck could be heard the trampling of feet. Sunshine streamed through the skylight above, and Sandy judged it must be very early morning. They had lain in the stifling heat of that black hole for an afternoon and a night then.

After a few minutes, Sandy struggled to his feet and looked about him. The fresh air had hugely strengthened and revived him. He felt a new courage coursing through his veins.

In the center of the cabin was a swinging table, bearing the remains of a rough meal. But never had food looked so good to the boy as did those remnants of corned beef and cabbage, and some sort of soggy pudding, and—a most welcome sight of all—a big glass pitcher full of sparkling, clear water.

Sandy determined to free Jack somehow, and then, together, they would enjoy a long drink and something of a meal, come what might. But how to accomplish this? That was the problem.

All at once, from the hold behind him, came a cry.

"It's Jack! The fresh air must have revived him. Thank goodness for that," breathed Sandy fervently. Then uttering a loud "Hush," he made his way back into the hold.

Even in the short time the door had been open, the air had noticeably freshened. The place was filled with a dull, half light too. The semi-twilight revealed a big pile of boxes and bales in one corner of the place, but Sandy had no eyes for that. All he could see just then was the gaunt, hollow-eyed figure of Jack Dacre, staggering toward him.

"Courage, old chap," he exclaimed. "We've gained one step already."

"How on earth did that door get open?" gasped Jack, breathing the fresher air in great gulping sobs.

"Aweell now," grinned Sandy, "I guess that, unbeknownst to mysel', I must have whispered 'Open Sesame,' for the thing just swung open when I bumped against it."

The two lads were soon in the cabin, their minds busily at work as to how to free their hands. Suddenly Jack spied a bunch of keys hanging on the wall.

"Maybe some of those would fit," he suggested hopefully.

"Perhaps. We can try, anyhow. But how can we get them?"

"Easy enough. Like this."

Jack stood on tiptoe and seized the bunch in his teeth like a terrier seizing a rat. He dropped them on the table. Then came the problem of selecting one that would fit.

"This looks as if it might do," said Jack, literally "nosing" at a small, rusty key among the bunch.

"We can try it, anyhow," said Sandy; "take it in your teeth, and see if it does belong to these bits of iron jewelry."

It was a difficult and tedious task, but Jack at last accomplished it, and had the key inserted in the lock of Sandy's handcuffs. It fitted perfectly. Sandy laid his hands out flat on the table, so as to hold the handcuffs rigid, and then Jack gave a twist.

There was a sharp click, and Sandy was free.

"Now for you," he exclaimed, and, taking the key from Jack, with his now-free hands, he soon had that lad disburdened of his incumbrances. The lads really had some difficulty in keeping from cheering when this was accomplished. But, of course, they didn't. In fact, although they were now a little better off than they had been before, they were by no means "out of the woods" as yet. Like the young bears in the fable, they had still most of their troubles before them. But, nevertheless, it was a great relief to have air and the freedom of their hands.

"I guess the tug must have anchored," observed Sandy. "Wonder if we are lying at any city? If so, we could make a dash for it, and chance to there being somebody around who would help us out of our difficulties."

"I wish we had some sort of weapons," said Jack. "At any rate, we could make a fight for it. I feel as if I'd do anything rather than go back to that hold again."

"So do I. But let's get that water and then tackle some grub. I never felt so hungry in my life."

No more time was wasted on mere words. The boys fell to on the table scraps, as if they were starved—as indeed they were.

And how good that water tasted! Never had the most delicious soda either of them had ever sampled one-quarter of the cool delight of that pitcher full of "aqua pura."

"Ah-h-h-h!" breathed Jack, with a sigh of repletion, "that was something like."

"It was all of that," agreed Sandy, "and then some. But speaking of weapons, what do you know about those?"

He indicated a brace of pistols, which had been hitherto unnoticed by the lads. The weapons lay on a locker, and appeared to have been hastily deposited there by some one who had been engaged in cleaning them, for a small can of oil and some rags lay by them. The lads lost no time in pouncing on their finds.

Both proved to be loaded, and were of heavy caliber and of business-like looking blued steel.

"Look wicked enough for anything," grinned Sandy, examining his. "I don't know about the law-and-order aspect of this, but—'necessity knows no law.'"

"We would really be justified in doing anything to those ruffians," spoke Jack indignantly, "for all they cared, we might have died of hunger and thirst and suffocation in that miserable hole yonder, without a soul coming near us. I feel like facing the whole crew of the ruffianly wretches."

"Yes, let 'em come on," quoth Sandy defiantly, brandishing his pistol.

As if in answer to his words, a door at the head of a short flight of stairs was suddenly flung open, and the figure of a man appeared framed in the portal.

"Now for it," whispered Sandy. He was glad to note that in the hand which Jack impulsively thrust out to meet his, there was no sign of tremor.

Both lads flung themselves into attitudes of defense. Come what might, they felt prepared to face it, nerved by a sense of their wrongs, and of what a return to that pestilential hold would mean.

CHAPTER IX.

"FIFTY DOLLARS TO THE MAN THAT GETS THEM!"

The newcomer was Captain Rangler.

He was descending into the hold to get the pistols he had barely finished cleaning and loading, when the preparations for anchoring brought a hurry call for him to go on deck.

His amazement at seeing both the lads free of their handcuffs, and defiantly pointing the pistols at his head, may be imagined.

"Well, I'll be hanged!" he exclaimed, pausing on the third step. "What under the North Star does this mean?"

"It means that you must set us free at once," spoke up Jack. "We are at anchor now. Send us ashore in a boat."

"And what if I don't?" demanded the captain. His voice seemed to hold more of curiosity than the ferocity the boys had been prepared for.

The question was rather a puzzling one, and caught the lads at a disadvantage. They had calculated on meeting with resistance. Instead, the captain of the tug, while appearing to be much astonished at their cleverness in escaping from their captivity, didn't seem to be in any way inclined to offer them violence.

Instead, he sat down deliberately on one of the steps, while both boys, rather perturbed in mind, kept their pistols steadily leveled. But their hands were shaky. They had been prepared for anything but this, and it took them aback.

"Well?" said Captain Rangler.

He drew a pipe from his mouth, and leisurely filled and lighted it before Jack found words to reply.

"Are you going to set us ashore?" he questioned in as determined a voice as he could summon.

"Certainly we are," was the astonishing reply. "What's the matter with you kids, anyhow?"

"What did you lock us in that hold for, and almost starve us and nearly let us die of thirst in that foul hole?" choked out Sandy.

Captain Rangler assumed a cleverly imitated look of astonishment.

"Were you locked up in there?" he demanded.

"Of course we were; as if you didn't know it," blurted out Jack.

"Now, now, just hold your horses," counseled the captain. "If you were locked in there, I knew nothing of it. Dampier and Walstein promised me no violence would be offered you if I kidnapped you for them."

"Oh, so you do admit capturing us on that lumber dock at Rockport?" sarcastically inquired Sandy.

"Of course I do; I can't deny that," said the captain with cool effrontery, "but Dampier and Walstein spun me a yarn about you being two runaway sons of some relatives of theirs and that you had stolen quite a sum of money."

"In that case then, you ought to be our friend," struck in Jack. "We are not runaways at all, but lads out on a pleasure trip, and besides, Dampier and Walstein are old enemies of my uncle. They think he wronged them, and are taking this means of avenging themselves."

"Humph," said the captain thoughtfully, emitting a cloud of blue smoke from his lips, "so them two fellers wasn't telling me the truth either, eh?"

"Of course not. They are two of the biggest rascals at large. They——"

Jack got no further. A strong arm was thrown about him from behind. At the same instant Sandy was tripped and thrown flat. The captain burst into a roar of laughter, and sprang down the stairs toward them. His smoking of the pipe had been a signal to those above that all was not well below, and Dampier and Walstein had silently descended by another way, and, sneaking through the hold, had accomplished this disastrous rear attack. Captain Rangler, as the lads might have guessed, had been merely talking against time, to allow his accomplices to descend into the cabin from another direction. The column of smoke from his pipe, curling out of the companion-way, had done its duty well—too well.

But both Jack and Sandy were strong, wiry lads. Though their activity had been much impaired by the hardships they had gone through during the night, there was still a lot of fight left in them, as their attackers soon discovered.

With a quick twist, Jack freed himself from Dampier, and thrust the pistol—which he still held—into the rascal's face. Dampier, who was an arrant coward at heart, as are most men of his stripe, shrank back. His face was a sickly, pasty yellow.

"D-d-d-d-don't shoot!" he begged, trembling.

Jack looked as fierce as he could, and flourished his pistol at Walstein, who was struggling with Sandy.

The leonine-headed ex-sea captain took the hint, and joined Dampier in begging the lad not to shoot.

But, in the excitement of this dramatic scene, Jack had forgotten all about Captain Rangler. As Walstein relaxed his hold on Sandy, Rangler jumped forward, aiming a terrific blow at Jack's head. The lad ducked just in time, and the huge, knotted fist whistled harmlessly over his head.

At the same instant, Sandy, with quick-witted comprehension of the requirements of the situation, dashed straight at Captain Rangler before that worthy could recover from the astonishment of his missed blow. Straight between the giant's legs hurtled Sandy's agile red-headed form. Caught all unawares, Captain Rangler went down with a crash. His great weight, as he fell, caused the cabin table to collapse, and brought the whole thing down in a pile of wreckage.

"Quick, Jack, before they recover their wits!" exclaimed Sandy, dashing for the companionway.

Jack sprinted after him. Up they dashed, three steps at a time, and before the group below recovered from their astonishment, the two lads had gained the deck.

Apparently nobody had heard the noise of the struggle, for the deck was deserted.

"What now?" asked Jack pantingly, as they paused, undecided for an instant.

"See, there's a boat astern. We'll make for that!" shouted Sandy, heading off at top speed.

The tug lay at anchor about a hundred yards off a well-timbered shore. As well as the boys could judge in their haste, the anchorage was in a sort of steeply-walled cove. But they hadn't much time to take in details as they ran.

"What are you going to do?" panted Jack, as they sprinted past the smokestack.

"Get in that boat and row ashore. It's our only chance. They'll half kill us if they capture us again."

"But—but suppose it's an island and there are no folks living there?"

"We must chance that. Come on now! Over this rail and drop into the boat. We——"

"Hold on there, young fellows! Where are you coming to?"

The burly form of a sailor, who had been taking a nap in the boat tied astern, suddenly upreared itself from the stern sheets, just as the lads had their legs over the rail and were prepared to drop into it.

"We have orders from the captain to go ashore instantly," spoke Sandy swiftly.

"Ah! Get out with that gammon," was the disconcerting reply, "you're the two kids we catched in Rockport. You—

"Catch those boys! Hold them!"

"Fifty dollars to the man that gets them!"

"Don't let them escape!"

Uttering these and similar cries, Walstein, Dampier and Captain Rangler came pouring out of the companionway in the bow. At the same instant half a dozen sailors appeared, as if by magic, from various spots where they had been taking quiet naps.

The sailor in the boat comprehended instantly.

"Get back!" he ordered gruffly, "you've escaped. You've got no——"

The rest of his words were lost to posterity forever, for Sandy had dropped nimbly into the boat, followed by Jack. Their sudden weight tipped it to one side.

The sailor, who had been standing erect, toppled over with a splash and a yell.

"Pull! pull for your life!" shouted Sandy, laying hold of an oar. Jack needed no second order, but picked up another. Both lads tugged away for dear life. In the meantime, the sailor, who could swim well, had laid hold of a rope and pulled himself back on board the tug.

The lads had not got a dozen yards from the tug's side before Walstein's voice came across the water:

"Come back to the tug instantly!" he yelled from where he stood, amidst quite a crowd of the crew at the stern of the craft.

"We're in a hurry, thank you!" hailed back Sandy, defiantly.

"See you some other time," called Jack, equally recklessly. The spirit of their exciting dash was in their veins. Both boys would have faced anything rather than return to the tug just then.

"We'll be ashore in a few minutes," encouraged Sandy as they pulled at the oars till the stout ash wood bent like whalebone.

"I rather guess we—" Jack began, when something happened to cut him short.

That "something" was a shower of bullets that pattered all about them. In their haste they had not reckoned on this.

"Better stop rowing," yelled Walstein's bellowing voice, "the next ones are going to hit closer."

CHAPTER X.

A TRAP OF NATURE'S MAKING.

"Dive overboard when I give the word and swim under water!" ordered Sandy.

"The only thing to do, I guess. Look, they are going to fire again."

"Get ready, then."

Jack merely nodded. But his lips were firmly compressed, and his face bore a look of determination that spoke far louder than words.

"Are you coming back, or do we have to sink that boat and drown you two rats?" bellowed Walstein, deliberately steadying his arm on the stern bulwark of the tug to take better aim.

But before the words were out of his mouth the boat was empty. It seemed almost as if by magic, so swiftly had both boys dived, immediately following Sandy's quick-spoken:

"Now!"

A perfect roar of rage arose from the decks of the anchored tug, as the two splashes sounded and only spreading rings of water marked where the lads had vanished.

"Fire at the water!" shouted Walstein, almost beside himself with anger.

As for Dampier, he danced up and down, and shook his fists at the shore in impotent fury.

"Guess the boys have euchered us this time, Walstein," grinned Captain Rangler ruefully.

Among all that angry crew the captain alone was cool.

"No use firing at the water," he continued, "it will only be waste of ammunition. Anyway, those kids must be 'most ashore by this time."

A few seconds later two dripping forms did emerge from the water, and, wading rapidly up the beach, vanished in the thick undergrowth.

"And we haven't even got a boat to follow them in!" raged Dampier.

"Well, there's the one that they stole floating about. Peterson," addressing one of the sailors, "swim over yonder and bring that boat back."

The man kicked off his boots unconcernedly, and stripped to his underclothing. He was a strong swimmer, and speedily returned with the small craft.

"Now, then, get aboard," ordered Captain Rangler. "The sooner we take after them the less chance those brats will have to travel any distance."

"Yes; but supposing they discover the—the—you know—the old tower?" questioned Dampier uneasily.

"Pshaw!" scoffed Walstein, "no danger of that. It's too well hidden. Besides, the light hasn't been used, except for our purposes, for years. The path is all overgrown, and nobody who didn't know the way could reach it."

"Just the same, it would be awkward if they did, and were ever able to inform the authorities," spoke up one of the crew.

"That's so. But in that case they would never get away. Eh, Rangler?"

It was Dampier who spoke, his thin, ferret-like features contorted in an evil smile.

"I'm sure I don't know," rejoined Captain Rangler, as if the subject was distasteful to him, "but there's another reason. You know what that is."

"Of course. But Barkentin is guarding him. Come on, let's waste no more time talking here, but get ashore."

Five minutes later, as many as could crowd into the boat were being pulled toward the little beach where the boys had landed. In the stern sheets sat Walstein, Dampier and Captain Rangler, the most bitter enemies the two young fugitives had on earth.

* * * * * * *

The ground above the beach sloped quite steeply. It was rocky and thickly grown with brush and low shrubs, and here and there large trees mingled with the undergrowth.

Stumbling and running by turns, the two young fugitives made their way over the uneven ground with some difficulty. But the thought of what lay behind kept them moving as briskly as possible. At last the character of the ground seemed to change. They emerged on a sort of rocky plateau.

At one side of this was a cliff, and at the base of the acclivity appeared a large hole, apparently the mouth of a cave.

"We may as well take a look in there," spoke Jack; "in case of pursuit it might make a good hiding place."

Sandy agreed that the cave was worth investigating. But before the two lads plunged into the dark entrance of the place they armed themselves with heavy sticks. Later they were glad they had taken this precaution.

The mouth of the cave was black and a curious damp smell issued from it. But the boys did not hesitate. With Jack in advance, they plunged into the tunnel-like entrance. The floor of the cavern sloped steeply downward and was dry and sandy. It was pitchy dark inside, but, luckily, Sandy had a small electric pocket lamp with him, which he flashed about. It showed the boys that they were making their way through a sort of semi-circular tube in the cliff. Just how far it extended they were, of course, unaware; but they decided to keep pushing on until they came to the end of it.

All at once the rocky passage terminated abruptly in a medium sized chamber with a high roof. The air in here was cool and pleasant, and the boys sat down to rest on a rock while they looked about them in the rays of the pocket lamp.

"This is a queer sort of place to stumble on," mused Jack; "wonder if anyone ever explored it before."

"I dinna ken," rejoined Sandy, "but, mon, I can spy another openin' yonder. Suppose that when we are rested we see what is beyant."

"Very well," agreed Jack readily. "As far as that goes, I'm ready to start right now."

Sandy declared that he was rested too, and the lads crossed the rocky chamber and plunged into another passage on the other side. It was similar in character to the tunnel through which they had entered the big cavern, except that its downward slope was pitched still more steeply.

"I wonder where on earth this is going to lead us?" ruminated Jack as they trudged along.

"We must ha' come more than half a mile noo," grunted out Sandy.

"Tired?" asked Jack.

"A little."

"Well, we might as well turn back then. I don't think it's much use our keeping on any further."

"Nor do I. Besides, we might get lost, and it's fearsome dark in case that light gives oot, and I dinna think the batteries are verra strong."

This suggested an alarming possibility to Jack. He knew that Sandy had used the torch a good deal and, as the Scotch lad had pointed out, there was a chance that the light might not hold out. In such a case their predicament would be a serious one, indeed.

The lads turned and retraced their steps and, in the course of a few minutes, found themselves back in the vaulted chamber. Here they sat down to rest once more. While they rested the light was extinguished, but, as it was lonely sitting there in the dark, Sandy felt moved to relate a story of an adventure met with by a friend of his father's in a mine in the west.

This man was an engineer who had been called upon to do some inspection work on a large mine which extended several hundred feet under the ground.

"Being doon here in the dark sets me in mind of it," added the lad. "Shall I tell ye aboot it?"

"Yes, do," rejoined Jack. "It will help to pass the time while we are resting up."

Without further preliminaries Sandy plunged into his story, which we shall not relate in his dialect, but set forth in plain English.

The hero of Sandy's tale was a young engineer named MacPherson. On the day on which he met with his adventure he had completed a tour of inspection of the lower levels of the works and was invited by one of the employees to take a look at a vein which was located in a far part of the mine.

Accompanied by this employee, MacPherson set off to the remote excavation in which the vein was located. All the time they were below the ore trucks, operated by a cable from above, were ascending and descending at a rapid rate. On returning from his investigation of the vein the engineer and his friend stopped for a time to watch the trucks as they rushed up and down.

All at once MacPherson noticed that a truck of a different type to the others was coming toward them. It was painted a bright red. He inquired what it was, and was informed that it was the dynamite car which took a supply of the explosive to another part of the mine where the men were opening up a new lead.

"Pretty awkward if it should happen to bump us," remarked MacPherson with a grin.

His companion answered with a shrug.

"We'd never know what struck us," he said. "There's enough dynamite in that car to blow up half the mountain if it ever jumped the track."

The words were hardly out of his mouth before a miner came running through the tunnel toward them.

"A truck has been wrecked round the curve, just below the shaft," he cried. "I'm going to telephone to the surface and tell 'em to stop that dynamite car. If it——"

He stopped abruptly and his jaw fell. At that instant the red car flashed past with a rumble and roar, and shot round the curve at high speed.

"Down on your faces!" shouted the miner excitedly; and down on their faces they all three flung themselves without loss of time. Hardly had they done so before there was a roar that seemed to shake the earth to its foundations. The lights on the wall of the tunnel went out, and the three men were raised from the ground and slammed down again with sufficient violence to knock the breath out of them.

MacPherson was the first to recover himself. But the other two regained their faculties speedily and, sitting up, strove to collect their scattered senses. They were in pitch darkness, and only MacPherson had any matches in his pockets. These were struck sparingly as they groped their way along the tunnel. But before they had gone more than a few yards they were brought up "all standing" by a mass of rock. It had been dislodged by the explosion, and lay in great masses, completely blocking the tunnel and, as they realized, with thrills of horror, imprisoning them.

Luckily they were all men of nerve, and, instead of losing their senses, began to calculate ways and means of escape. But their deliberations brought them to no satisfactory conclusion.

Before them lay a wall whose thickness they had no means of knowing. Behind them the tunnel terminated at the vein already mentioned. They were prisoners, hundreds of feet under the earth, and how were they to know if they would ever be rescued, or even if any attempt would be made to do so.

As they realized this, despair overtook all three of them for a time. For a long period they sat, gloomily, in the darkness, without speaking. Then, all at once, reaching out his hand, MacPherson touched an iron pipe. He informed the others of his discovery and the miner declared that the metal tube led to the surface and was used to convey water to the depths of the mine. This suggested an idea to MacPherson. He picked up a bit of rock and began tapping at the pipe. He had some knowledge of telegraphy, and the taps he gave spelled out the message:

"Three of us are imprisoned. Send help."

After a time he succeeded in teaching the message to the others, and they took turns in tapping it out. But no reply came, and in despair they gave up their efforts for a time.

But MacPherson was not prepared to lose hope as easily as the others. He persisted in his tapping, hour after hour, till the rock he was tapping with cut his hands and they were bruised and sore. He was just about to give over his efforts to attract attention when there came a sudden sound that made his pulses jump.

Somebody was tapping an answer from above. MacPherson listened and made out the message.

"Where are you?"

"What do you call this tunnel?" he asked of the miner.

"Tunnel No. 4 of the Old Mine," was the reply in a listless tone. "Why?"

"Why? Because I've just got an answer to my message. There is a chance we may be saved."

The reply electrified the despairing men into new hope. They listened eagerly while MacPherson tapped out a return message.

"We are in Tunnel No. 4 of the Old Mine," he rapped out.

Then they waited for the answer. It seemed an age before it came to the entombed men.

"Will try to get help to you. But the explosion has blocked the shaft."

With this they had to be content, but the man above continued, from time to time, to send down bulletins of what was being done. In this way he announced the work of the relief parties, and described the damage done by the explosion. Three men had been killed, he said, but the others had managed to escape, although more or less wounded. When the first wreck occurred they had at once made for the upper levels, not waiting for the arrival of the dynamite car, which they knew must be on its way. In this manner they had saved themselves from death.

After that there seemed nothing more to do but to await, with what patience they might, the work of rescue. But they knew full well that if help didn't come before long they were doomed to die of hunger and thirst, for already they were beginning to feel the pangs of privation.

Water particularly was what they longed for. It was hot, stiflingly so, in their living tomb, and there appeared no prospect of speedy relief. They tried in vain to get at the fluid that they knew was inside the pipe, but, having no tools, their efforts were useless, and would not have been attempted by any but desperate men, such as they were fast becoming.

At first they kept track of the time, but after awhile their store of matches grew so low that they did not dare light them to examine their watches. To make matters worse, no answer now came to MacPherson's tappings, and so they were deprived of the means of knowing how the work above them was going on.

Hour after hour passed in the darkness, and the nerves of the imprisoned captives were cruelly racked. But suddenly a sound broke in on the silence.

It was a queer sort of scraping sound among the great mass of rock that was blocking the tunnel. Then, to the wonderment of the imprisoned men, a voice came through the darkness with startling clearness. To their overwrought imaginations it seemed almost supernatural for an instant. But the next moment the mysterious incident was explained.

The rescuing party, working on the other side of the blockade, had succeeded in forcing a pipe through the rock. Through this they were now addressing the captives. Before long the pipe served a new use. Water and food in liquid form were forced through it, the imprisoned men taking turns at getting their nourishment in this odd fashion.

For three days they were compelled to live in this manner, while their comrades worked desperately to pierce the barrier. At last it was accomplished, and rescued and rescuers met face to face. Amid cheers the survivors of the accident were brought to the surface.

It was then that a strange thing was seen. Their hair had turned white as snow from suspense and suffering, but otherwise, except that they looked thin and haggard, they showed no permanent effects of their terrible experience.

"And when I find mesel' in a tight place," concluded Sandy, "I think to mesel' of MacPherson and his comrades in yon black hole."

Jack agreed that the experience of the engineer and his companions was indeed an example of something turning up when everything seemed at its blackest, but he could not help but think that their own situation was almost as bad.

A short time after, they rose to their feet and struck out for the passage by which they had entered the big cavern. As Sandy switched on the light, however, they both became aware of something that made them jump back in a hurry.

A big black snake was coiled on the floor of the cave, almost at their feet. Another step, in fact, and they would have trodden on the reptile. As they jumped backward, with the agility of acrobats, the snake hissed angrily and, opening its mouth, showed a forked, darting tongue and ugly-looking fangs.

Sandy aimed a blow at the creature with his stick, but, instead of recoiling, the reptile made as if to strike at the lad. Just then, as the Scotch lad's misfortune would have it, he tripped on a rock and fell forward.

He uttered an involuntary yell as he did so. He could almost feel, in imagination, the fangs of the black snake fastening into his flesh. Naturally, too, in his extremity, he dropped his pocket light, which went out immediately, being one of the variety that are worked by keeping a finger pressed on a spring.

Plunged once more in Egyptian darkness, with his companion, for all he knew, involved in a battle with the serpent, Jack caught his breath. Then he struck a match. The sputter of flame showed him Sandy sprawled out at full length on the ground, while the snake had its head drawn back and its body coiled as if to strike.

At that instant the match flickered and went out. But Jack had marked where the snake lay, and, in a desperate effort to save Sandy at all hazards, he struck out blindly in the darkness. He felt his stick strike something soft and wriggly. The feeling sent a shudder of repulsion through the boy, but he bravely kept on striking out nevertheless. In the meantime Sandy had recovered himself, and, feeling about for it, found the pocket light. He switched it hastily on and saw Jack battling with the black snake, which was hissing and striking viciously in every direction.

It was Sandy's turn to take part in the battle now. With a well-directed blow he brought his stick down full on the serpent's back. Instantly the creature seemed to tie itself up in an intricate knot, writhing and lashing in what proved its death agony, for a few seconds later it lay in a limp, inanimate heap at the lad's feet.

"Well done, Sandy," cried Jack, examining the dead reptile. "It's dead as a doornail."

"I wonder if it was a poisonous one?" pondered Sandy.

"I don't know. It looks deadly enough, and I'd hate to have been bitten by it," rejoined Jack, "but come on. Don't let's waste time here. We must push on in a hurry if we want to get out again before that lamp gives out."

"Yes, it's getting a wee bit feeble," agreed Sandy. "Hoots, mon, I hope it dinna give oot. If it does before we reach the open air we shall be——"

The sentence was not completed. At that instant the dreaded thing happened. Without any warning the wires in the tiny lamp began to glow red and then suddenly ceased to shine. The boys were plunged in total darkness, and, worse still, Jack's supply of matches was exhausted.

"What on earth shall we do?" he breathed, with something of a quiver in his voice.

In rejoinder Sandy felt for his comrade's hand and clasped it.

"Dinna lose heart, laddie," he said. "Remember the story o' MacPherson and keep up your courage."

Thus admonished, Jack steadied up his nerves, and the two lads began to grope through the darkness.

"We can find the wall of the cave and then feel round it till we discover the opening," said jack in a firmer voice than when he had last spoken.

"Hurray! Here it is!" exclaimed Sandy after they had groped about for several minutes.

"Then, forward march!" cried Jack, "and let's get out of this place as quick as we can. I wish we had never come into it."

"So do I," agreed Sandy, "but it's crying when the milk is spilt."

Through the darkness the two boys advanced into the tunnel whose entrance they had discovered. They tramped briskly on for some time and at last a feeble glimmer of light began to show. This heartened them, and they quickened their steps. At last they reached the mouth of the tunnel they had been traversing.

But at its end a cruel shock awaited them.

Instead of the rocky plateau they had expected to find, they discovered that they had emerged on the lip of a cliff. Peering over the edge, they could see that they were standing on a sort of shelf, a good hundred feet above the bottom of a steep-sided ravine.

The opposite side of the abyss was not more than twenty feet distant, but how were they to cross it?

"We must turn back," said Jack in a voice tinged with despair.

But Sandy shook his head.

"We could ne'er find the right passage again," he said. "There must be several of them branching oot of that cavern. Mon, it's tough luck that we took the wrong ane, but we must aye try to find a way oot of our deefeculties."

"It's too wide to jump it," said Jack despairingly, "and unless we do that I don't see how we can get across."

"Nor do I—yet," said Sandy, looking about him with sharp, intent eyes.

But all at once he gave a joyous cry.

"We could get across if we had a bit bridge," he said.

"Why don't you wish for an airship while you are at it?" retorted Jack. "It would be just as easy to get one as to find a bridge."

"I'm nae so sure aboot that noo," said Sandy, with a grin. "See yon dead tree on the hillside above?"

Jack looked up and saw that, just above the tunnel mouth, the ground sloped steeply upward, and that rooted in the loose soil was the dead trunk of a lightning-blasted pine.

"If we could get that doon," said Sandy, "and make it fall so as it reached across yon hole in the ground, we'd have a bridge."

"Cracky! So we would. But how are we to get it down? We've no axe, and it would take a week to cut it down with our knives."

Sandy thought deeply for a while. Then he spoke.

"That wood is dead and dry. If we could get a bit fire at the roots, doon she'd coom in a jiffy."

"But we've no matches."

"Can ye no think of any other way to make fire?"

Jack shook his head.

"In books people always rub dry sticks together, but I've tried that often, and I could never get even a spark from them."

Sandy drew a small brass object from his pocket. Jack saw at once that it was one of the Scotch lad's most treasured possessions—a pocket microscope. Many a bug, beetle and butterfly had yielded up their lives on its account.

"There's a good hot sun aboot us," quoth Sandy; "noo I wonder if we canna make a good burning glass oot of this wee microscope?"

"By ginger! That's a plan worth trying!" cried Jack enthusiastically.

He began climbing the hillside to where the dead pine grew. With their knives the two boys soon had shaved off enough dried bark to start their experiment. Dead limbs in plenty lay all about.

The bark was piled up in a heap after having been shredded. Then Sandy held his microscope up between the sun and the pile of dried tinder. After a little he managed to concentrate a red hot ray on the tinder. It began to smoke, and an aromatic scent filled the air. The boys could not restrain their enthusiasm. Jack lay flat and blew on the smoldering bits of bark till they burst into flame. In a few minutes a roaring fire was heaped about the base of the old dead pine.

A long, thick limb, broken off in some winter storm, lay not far off. The boys secured this, and when they thought the fire had burned long enough to char the base of the tree thoroughly, they began using it as a battering ram.

"Now then," cried Sandy, "ane! twa! all together!"

Crash! The improvised ram collided with the old pine's partially rotted trunk.

"Glory! It's shaking!" yelled Jack. "A few more good whacks like that and down she comes."

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! went the battering ram. The old pine began to lean over majestically. Slowly, very slowly, its collapse progressed. All at once its weight tore it apart from its base, and it fell with a loud, resounding crash. The boys caught their breath. Would its outer end touch the other side of the chasm?

The next instant a jubilant cheer announced that it had fulfilled the hoped for purpose. Jack threw his cap in the air. Sandy did the same.

"It's a regular Brooklyn bridge the noo!" he exclaimed.

Half scrambling and half sliding, the boys lost no time in descending to their improvised bridge. It required some exercise of courage to straddle the not over steady trunk, and work their way across it to the other side, but it was done at last, and they stood once more on "safe ground."

"Now, then, what will we do?" demanded Jack.

"Strike out through yon woods. It can't be long before we get to some house or other," declared Sandy stoutly.

With a last glance at the "bridge" that had served them so well in what had seemed an insurmountable difficulty, the boys pushed forward, making their way through country very much like that they had traversed before they came to the cave and an adventure which had come near costing them dearly.

"Say, this brush is as thick as a fog on Long Island Sound," vociferated Jack, as the two lads pushed perspiringly forward through dense undergrowth, interspersed by huge tree trunks whose tops towered high above.

"But we've got to keep on going," remonstrated Sandy, "reminds me of that yarn of the chap who said he'd an ancestor who fought in the revolutionary war on the British side. They asked him what his ancestor did, and the chap said that he had a drum and kept on beating it."

"Hum! that's what we've got to do, 'keep on beating it,'" was Jack's comment on the perennially cheerful Sandy's anecdote.

On and on they pushed, from time to time encountering small clearings, and then again plunging into thick woods. The sun grew higher and it grew hotter, but neither of the lads gave a sign of the fatigue that he felt. But their clothes were dripping wet, as well as torn by the rough going they encountered.

At last Jack sat down on a big log on the edge of a particularly dense bit of woodland.

"Tuckered out, mon?" inquired Sandy.

"No, far from it. I could keep on for quite a while, but—but—say, Sandy, I wonder where on earth we are, anyway. Is this an island, or the mainland, or the United States or Canada, or what?"

"Blessed if I know," was the frank response, "our only plan is to keep plugging along till we find out. If it's an island it must be a big one, or we would have come to the other side of it by this time."

"That's so," assented Jack, "unless we've been traveling round and round in circles."

"Pshaw! only babies and folks in books do that. I've kept my eyes on the sun and I'm pretty sure we've been keeping in one direction right along."

"That being the case, I move that we continue to do so."

"Very well. Lay on, MacDuff, arise and gird thy loins, and——"

Sandy, as he spoke, had given a step or two forward into some marshy-looking land that came almost up to the stump on which they had been resting.

All at once, before Jack's very eyes, the Scotch lad gave an amazed, choking exclamation, and without warning, was suddenly immersed to his waist in the center of a patch of unnaturally brilliant green grass.

"Help, Jack! Help!" he cried in a voice in which real terror vibrated.

"What is it? What's the matter?" queried Jack, anxiously springing forward. This was a new disaster, and a very real one.

"It's—it's a quicksand or something!" gasped Sandy, "it's pulling me down! Help! I——"

As he spoke he struggled desperately in the grip of the quagmire that had fastened a remorseless hold on his nether limbs. But every struggle took him lower. The slimy, treacherous black mud reached his waist, then it gradually engulfed him till it was up to his chest.

Jack desperately hacked at a young tree with his big pocketknife. If he could reach Sandy with it in time, he felt that he could save his companion yet.

"Keep up your courage, Sandy," he kept on saying, in a voice that would quaver a bit in spite of itself, "I'll get you out of it, never fear."

"You'll have to hurry then, Jack," rejoined the other lad in an astonishingly calm voice, "this stuff is drawing me down as if it had hands."

At last the sapling was cut, and Jack hastened to the edge of the swamp to extend it toward his half-immersed companion. Under his directions Sandy clutched it with the grip of a drowning man.

"Now, then," cried Jack, exerting every ounce of his strength. He tugged with might and main, but Sandy still stuck fast. It occurred to Jack that, by getting closer to the boy he was trying to help, he might be of more assistance. Cautiously he ventured forward and then tried another tug.

In order to make this final effort more successful he had braced his feet against a stick of solid-looking timber that lay in the morass. But it proved "a rotten reed." As his weight came against it the soft wood appeared literally to "melt away."

Jack felt his feet slide from under him, and then—horrifying sensation—something seemed to grip them. He struggled in vain. A fly on a sheet of sticky flypaper might have tried to free itself as effectually.

The morass gave a queer, sucking sound, and great bubbles of marsh gas rose to the surface and broke as Jack floundered about. But every struggle served only to tighten his slimy bonds.

The quagmire had our two young fugitives fast in its treacherous embrace.

"Help!" shouted Jack.

"Help! Help!" echoed Sandy in a weak, despairing voice.

No answer came back, except the scream of a great blue heron which, alarmed by their cries, arose and flapped lazily out of the slough.

CHAPTER XI.

OUT OF THE DARK.

"It's no use. They are too fast for us."

Jeff Trulliber spoke from the bridge of the Sea Ranger, some hours after the chase across the waters of Lake Huron had begun.

"It does look that way," said Tom, with a sigh, gazing after the cloud of smoke on the horizon which, fast as the Sea Ranger was urged, never appeared to get any closer.

"The rascals!" exclaimed Professor Podsnap, shaking his fist at the smoke cloud.

The events of the past few hours had transformed the man of science from an abstracted, dreamy individual, into quite a warlike, ferocious being. He could talk of nothing but the vengeance he would like to wreak on Walstein and Dampier had he them in his power.

"Dinnah am sub'bed! Dinnah am sub'bed! Dinnah am sub'bed!"

It was the voice of Rosewater, speaking, as usual, in "threes."

"I haven't much appetite, but I suppose we had better eat something," said Tom. "Jeff, you and the professor go first. I'll take the wheel. The engines won't need watching for a while."

Jeff was about to expostulate and urge Tom, who looked tired and jaded, to go to the table, but he suddenly recollected that the eldest Dacre lad was now, to all intents and purposes, the captain of the Sea Ranger.

So, with an "aye! aye, sir!" and a touch of his cap, he hastened off with the professor to the comfortable cabin astern. Rosewater, considering the short time he had been on board, had certainly performed wonders in the culinary department. The table was properly spread with linen and silver, and while we are not going to describe the meal in detail, it was as good as could have been obtained in any city hotel.

But, to the disappointment of the black, who hovered solicitously over their chairs, neither his master nor the professor ate much. Their conversation was more limited than their appetites. The strain under which they were laboring was beginning to tell on them.

Nor did Tom, when he in his turn took his place at the table, display any more ability as a trencherman. He knew the cruel, desperate characters of the men who had captured Sandy and Jack too well to hope for any good treatment for his brother and his chum. On the contrary, he did not know to what sufferings they might be put by their brutal captors, especially as Tom's own escape must have enraged Walstein and Dampier to the point of madness.

He speculated a good deal as to whether the two rascals had carried out their intention of writing a letter to his uncle, demanding ransom. It seemed probable, but in the rush of events that was coincident with the Sea Ranger's departure from Rockport, Tom had no opportunity to find out. He had, however, ascertained that there was a wireless station there, and at various other points along the lakes, and he promised himself that, at the first opportunity, he would take advantage of this, to send Mr. Dacre a wireless message.

"I only wish we had had the Sea Ranger so equipped," mused Tom, who had taken considerable interest in wireless at school, "I'm a pretty fair sender and receiver myself, and if we'd only had an apparatus I could have used it to advantage right now. For instance, I could have sent out 'a general alarm' for those ruffians on the tug."

Tom's meal, as may be supposed, did not take long, and he soon left the table, which caused Rosewater to remark, sotto voce:

"Dat boy am grievin'! dat boy am grievin'! dat boy suttinly am grievin', when he kin jes look at candied sweet potatoes an' say 'not to-day, fank you'!"

During the afternoon the same relative distances between the two craft were maintained. But, as the sun grew lower, and hues of copper and gold began to spread over the water Tom, on a visit to the deck from his vigil over the engines, noted, with keen joy, that they seemed to be gaining a trifle.

"I'll try and squeeze a bit more speed out of her," he promised, diving below and exercising all his engineering ability to coax even a half a knot more out of the laboring motors.

"How about it now?" he inquired, coming on deck again a few moments later.

"Better and better," exclaimed Jeff exultingly, "I can almost make out the outlines of the tug now. My! but she's burning coal!"

"She needs to," said Tom grimly, "if I ever get my hands on those chaps!"

But darkness fell, and the grim race still kept on.

It was one of those black nights that sometimes come in summer, when the darkness is like a velvety pall. There is no need to describe the chagrin of our friends.

"Maybe she'll show a light," said Jeff cheerily, "we were close enough to her when the dark shut in to see it if she does."

"But she won't," said Tom bitterly, "you may depend on that."

"What! she'll risk running Mackinac—we must be off there now,—without lights?"

"Those fellows would risk anything to keep out of the clutches of the law," rejoined Tom positively, "mark my words, they'll run the Straits without showing a glimmer."

"They are taking desperate chances."

"Such rascals as they are have been taking desperate chances all their lives," put in the professor gravely.

"Well, how about us, Tom?" asked Jeff after supper—a meal eaten with little more appetite than dinner,—"are we going to keep on?"

"I suppose so. I don't know that it is much use, though. In this darkness we are as likely to get miles off our course as we are to stick to their heels."

"I wish there were some way of making the daylight twenty-four hours long when you wanted it to be," said Jeff impatiently, peering ahead with his hands on the wheel.

"We'd have to be further north for that," said the professor, "to the north pole almost."

"Well, we'll go there, if necessary, to rescue Jack and Sandy," declared Tom, with firm conviction.

In the darkness the professor reached for Tom's hand and found it. He wrung it warmly. Adversity brings men and boys wondrous close.

"That's the talk, Tom Dacre," he said heartily, quite dropping his pedagogic air and speaking simply and strongly. "Although Providence may sometimes seem to favor rascals, never fear but that in the end she is on the side of honest men."

"Dat's jus' what ah ses, sah, when dey excuses me of stealin' dat ole Shanghai rooster down in Barbadoes," struck in Rosewater, who happened to be close by, "ah ses, 'Ah is white as de dribben snow, yo' wushup.' I nebber done go fo' ter steal no chickens nohow. Ah was jes'— Fo' de lub ob Moses, wha' am dat!"

The Sea Ranger, for the second time on that trip, struck something, with a harsh, grating sound.

Rosewater was thrown flat on his back and rolled off the bridge, bumping down the steps like a sack of potatoes. The others only saved themselves by clutching at the rail with might and main.

"We've struck something!" shouted the professor.

"Back her!" yelled Jeff, madly spinning his wheel over. Tom had darted below at the instant of the crash, and set the reverse levers. Already the Sea Ranger began to swing backward. But her movements were slow, almost like those of a crippled animal.

"Hey, there!" hailed a fresh, youthful voice out of the darkness ahead, "what have we hit?"

"Well, what do you think you've hit?" bellowed Jeff indignantly, "an ice-cream parlor?"