Floating there on the motionless bosom of that black lake, no sound came down to them from the great city overhead. The stillness was appalling, yet all feared to speak, dreading the sound of their own voices.
Finally Dick asked:
“How many matches have you, Brad?”
“Not over four or five more.”
“And I have none. How about you, professor—have you any?”
“Not one,” was the despairing answer.
Suddenly Buckhart grated:
“I’d like to get my paws on the treacherous dog who deserted us in this fix! I’d certain fit him for a funeral! You hear me affirm!”
“I’m still unable to account for his action,” said Dick. “If his object is robbery, surely he has taken a strange way to go about it.”
“Perhaps he’s counting on frightening us good and plenty,” observed Brad. “Mebbe when he thinks we’re so frightened that we’ll be glad to cough up liberal he will appear and offer to conduct us back to the outer world.”