agility, Jack stepped
ahead. By a sudden jerk of his arm the mulatto guide shook out the flame
in the lantern.

"Here, you! What are you about?" growled Jack Benson, wheeling like a
flash upon his escort.

"Go 'long, yo' w'ite trash!" jeered the mulatto. He gave the boy a sudden,
forceful shove.

Jack Benson, under the impetus of that push, staggered ahead, seeking to
recover his balance. Without a doubt he would have done so, but, just
then, the floor under his feet ended. With a yell of dismay, the submarine
boy tottered, then plunged down, alighting on a bed of soft dirt many feet
below.

CHAPTER VII: JACK FINDS SOMETHING "NEW," ALL RIGHT

Jack Benson was on his feet in an instant. An angrier boy it would have
been hard to find.

From overhead came the sound of a loud guffaw.

"Oh, you infernal scoundrel!" raged the submarine boy, shaking his fist in
the dark.

"W'at am de matter wid yo', w'ite trash?" came the jeering query.

"Let me get my hands on you, and I'll show you!" quivered Benson.

"Yah! Listen to yo'! Yo' wait er minute, an' Ah'll show yo' a light."

Gr-r-r-r! Gr-r-r-r! That sound from overhead was not pleasant. Jack, in
the few seconds that were left to him, could only guess as to the cause of
the sounds. Then, some fifteen feet over his head, a tiny flame sputtered.
This match-end was carried to the wick of the lantern that the yellowish
guide had been carrying, and now the light illumined the place into which
Jack Benson had fallen.

That place was a square-shaped pit, with boarded sides. Up above, on a
shelf of flooring, knelt the late guide, grinning down with a look of
infernal glee. On either side of the mulatto stood a heavy-jowled
bull-dog. Both brutes peered down, showing their teeth in a way to make a
timid man's blood run cold.

"Put those dogs back and come down here," challenged Jack, shaking his
fist. "Come down, and I'll teach you a few things, you rascal!"

"Don' yo' shake yo' fist at me, or dem dawgs will sure jump down and
tackle yo'," grinned the guide, gripping at the collars of the brutes,
which, truly, showed signs of intending to spring below.

Jack fell back, his hands dropping to his sides. Had there been but one
dog, the submarine boy, with all his grit forced to the surface, might
have chosen to face the brute, hoping to despatch it with a well-aimed
kick. But with two dogs, both intent on "getting" him, young Benson knew
that he would s