n, son, you lay to it that he'll get me bumped off,
mighty pronto."

Jerry Smith, after a groan, returned to his argument. "But that ties us
up, Ronicky. The door won't work, and it's worse than solid rock. And we
can't tunnel out the side, without so much as a pin to help us dig, can
we? I think that just about settles things. Ronicky, we can't get out."

"Suppose we had some dynamite," said Ronicky cheerily.

"Sure, but we haven't."

"Suppose we find some?"

Jerry Smith groaned. "Are you trying to make a joke out of this?
Besides, could we send off a blast of dynamite in a closed tunnel like
this?"

"We could try," said Ronicky. "Way I'm figuring is to show you it's bad
medicine to sit down and figure out how you're beat. Even if you owe a
pile of money they's some satisfaction in sitting back and adding up the
figures so that you come out about a million dollars on top--in your
dreams. Before we can get out of here we got to begin to feel powerful
sure."

"But you take it straight, friend: Fernand ain't going to leave us in
here. Nope, he's going to find a way to get us out. That's easy to
figure out. But the way he'll get us out will be as dead ones, and then
he can dump us, when he feels like it, in the river. Ain't that the
simplest way of working it out?"

The teeth of Jerry Smith came together with a snap. "Then the thing for
us to do is to get set and wait for them to make an attack?"

"No use waiting. When they attack it'll be in a way that'll give us no
chance."

"Then you figure the same as me--we're lost?"

"Unless we can get out before they make the attack. In other words,
Jerry, there may be something behind the dirt wall at the end of the
tunnel."

"Nonsense, Ronicky."

"There's got to be," said Ronicky very soberly, "because, if there
ain't, you and me are dead ones, Jerry. Come along and help me look,
anyway."

Jerry rose obediently and flashed on his precious pocket torch, and they
went down to pass the turn and come again to the ragged wall of earth
which terminated the passage. Jerry held the torch and passed it close
to the dirt. All was solid. There was no sign of anything wrong. The
very pick marks were clearly defined.

"Hold on," whispered Ronicky Doone. "Hold on, Jerry. I seen something."
He snatched the electric torch, and together they peered at the patch
from which the dried earth had fallen.

"Queer for hardpan to break up like that," muttered Ronicky, cutting
into t