can't keep it out. Off wi' your coat,
Frank; it are bigger than my hunting skirt. Let's spread it across the
hole, an' see if that'll do."

His companion obeyed with alacrity, stripping off his coat as quickly as
the circumscribed space would permit. Fortunately, it was a garment of
the sack specialty, without any split in the tail, and when extended
offered a good breadth of surface.

It proved sufficient for the purpose, and, before the little grotto had
become so filled with smoke as to be absolutely untenable, its entrance
was closed by a curtain of broadcloth, held so hermetically over the
aperture that even the fumes of Assafoetida could not possibly have
found their way inside.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

BURIED ALIVE.

For nearly half an hour they kept the coat spread, holding it close
around the edges of the aperture with their heads, hands, knees, and
elbows. Withal some of the bitter smoke found ingress, torturing their
eyes, and half stifling them.

They bore it with philosophic fortitude and in profound silence, using
their utmost efforts to refrain from sneezing or coughing.

They knew that the least noise heard by the Indians above--anything to
indicate their presence in the shaft--would ensure their destruction.
The fumigation would be continued till the savages were certain of its
having had a fatal effect. If they could hold out long enough, even
Indian astuteness might be baffled.

From what Wilder had heard, their persecutors were in doubt about their
having descended into the shaft; and this uncertainty promised to be
their salvation. Unless sure that they were taking all this trouble to
some purpose, the red men would not dally long over their work.
Besides, there was the rich booty to be drawn from the captured waggons,
which would attract the Indians back to them, each having an interest in
being present at the distribution.

Thus reasoned Walt Wilder as they listened to detect a change in the
performance, making use of all their ears.

Of course they could see nothing, no more than if they had been immured
in the darkest cell of an Inquisitorial dungeon. Only by their ears
might they make any guess at what was going on. These admonished them
that more of the burning brush was being heaved into the hole. Every
now and then they could hear it as it went swishing past the door of
their curtained chamber, the stalks and sticks rasping against the rocks
in their descent.

After a