CHAPTER XIII.
PRISONERS IN THE HUT.
It was almost pitch dark within the hut. Only from a crack under the door could any light enter. For an instant after the taunting of the voices of the men who had locked them in reached their ears, the trio of youthful prisoners remained silent.
Peggy it was who spoke first.
"Well, what's to be done now?" she demanded.
"We've got to get out of here," responded Jimsy, with embarrassing candor.
"That's plain enough," struck in Roy; "but how do you propose to do it?"
"I don't know; let's look about. Maybe there's a chimney or something."
"There's no opening larger than that one where the stove pipe goes through. I've noticed that already," responded Roy.
"Phew! This is a fix for fair."
"I should say so; but kicking about it won't help us at all. Let's make a thorough investigation."
In the darkness they groped about, but could discover nothing that appeared to hold out a promise of escape. The two boys shook the door violently; but it was firm on its hinges.
Next Roy proposed to cut a way through it with his pocket knife.
"We'd be starved to death by the time you cut through that stuff," declared Jimsy.
In proof of this he kicked the door, and the resulting sound showed that it was built of solid wood without any thin panels which might be cut through.
"What next?"
Peggy asked the question as the two perspiring lads stood perplexed without speaking or moving.
"Jiggered if I know," spoke Jimsy; "can't you or Roy think of anything?"
"We might try to batter the door down with that table," suggested Roy.
"It's worth trying. We've got to get out of here somehow."
The two boys picked up the heavy, roughly made table and commenced a violent assault on the door. But although they dented it heavily, and sent some splinters flying, the portal held its own. At length they desisted from pure weariness. The situation looked hopeless.
"It looks pretty bad," spoke Jimsy.
"It does indeed," agreed Roy. "Peggy, I wish we hadn't brought you along."
"And why, 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 muzzle about opposite to where he thought the padlock must be located.
"Look out for a big noise, sis," he warned.
Peggy gave a little scream and raised her hands to her ears. She disliked firearms.
"Ready?" sang out Jimsy.
"All ready," came the reply.
"Then fire!"
Simultaneously with Jimsy's order came a deafening report. In that confined space it sounded as if a huge cannon had been fired. Roy staggered back under the "kick" of the heavy charge.
"Once more," he announced.
Again a sonorous report sounded, but this time a section of the door was blown right out of the framework. The daylight streamed in through it.
"Now then for the test," cried Roy. "Come on, Jimsy."
The two boys placed their shoulders to the door. With a suddenness that was startling, it burst open, and they faced freedom. The lock had been fairly driven from its hold by the twice repeated charge of shot.
The young aviators were free once more. But it remained to be seen if the men who wished them harm had wrought their vengeance on the Golden Butterfly.