, pray, Roy Prescott?"

"Oh, because--because, well, this isn't the sort of thing for a girl."

"Well, I guess if my brother can stand it I can," rejoined the girl,
pluckily and in a firm voice.

"Well, there's no use minimizing the fix we're in," declared Roy. "This
is a lonesome bit of country. It may be a week before anyone will come
around. We've just got to get out, that's all there is to it."

"I wish you'd solve the problem then," sighed Jimsy; "it's too much
for me."

"I'll make another search of the premises, maybe we can stumble across
something that may aid us. At any rate, it will give us something to do
and keep our minds off the predicament we are in."

Roy struck a match, of which he had a plentiful supply in his pockets.
As the yellow flame sputtered up in the semi-gloom it showed every
corner of the small hut. But it did not reveal anything that promised
a chance to gain their liberty.

All at once, just as the light was sputtering out, Peggy gave a cry.
Her eye had been caught by a glistening metal object in one corner of
the hut.

"What is it?" asked Roy.

"A gun--a shot-gun standing in that corner over there."

"Huh!" sniffed Jimsy, "a lot of good that does us."

"On the contrary," declared Peggy stoutly, "if it's loaded it may serve
to get us free."

"I'm from Missouri," declared Jimsy enigmatically.

"What's your idea, sis?" asked Roy, who knew that Peggy's ideas were
usually worth following up.

"I remember reading only a short time ago of a man trapped much as we
are who escaped by blowing off the lock of his prison with a gun he
carried," replied Peggy; "maybe it would work in our case."

"Maybe it would if--" rejoined Roy.

"If what?"

"If the gun was loaded, which is most unlikely."

"Well, try it and see," urged Peggy.

"Yes, do," echoed Jimsy; "Peggy's plan sounds like a good idea. Maybe
some hunter left it here and the shells are still in it."

"No harm in finding out anyway," declared Roy.

He struck another match and picked up the gun. It was an antique looking
weapon badly-rusted. But on opening the breech he uttered a cry of joy.

"Good luck!" he exclaimed, "two shells,--one in each barrel."

"Well, put it to the test," urged Jimsy.

"All right. If this fails, though, I don't know what we'll do."

"Don't worry about that now. Try it."

"I'm going to. Don't get peevish."

Roy crossed the room to the door. Raising the gun to his shoulder he
placed the mu