“She’s there,” declared Frank. “She’s there—a captive!”
“It’s sure to be a red-hot scrimmage,” said Buckhart, looking at his revolver. “Take care that your guns are ready for action.”
They leaped from their horses and swiftly approached the ruins, leaving the animals to wander where they might in the valley, well knowing they would not leave it.
Up the stone steps they bounded, coming to the deepset door, which by its own weight or by the working of time had fallen from its hinges. Nothing barred them there, and they entered. As they dashed in, there was a sudden whirring sound, and they felt themselves struck and beaten upon as by phantom hands. This was startling enough, but Frank immediately comprehended that they were bats and the creatures were fluttering wildly about them. From one dark room to another they wandered, seeking the stairs that should lead them up into the turret.
“We need a light,” said Merry.
“That certain is correct, pardner,” agreed Buckhart. “We are a heap likely to break our necks here in the dark.”
“But we have no light,” panted Dick, “and no time to secure a torch. If we waste time for that we may lose her.”
“Where are those pesky stairs?” growled the Texan.
Their search led them into a huge echoing room that seemed windowless. Frank was exasperated by the aimlessness of their search. Had they not seen Felicia’s face at the window and heard her voice, the silence and desolation of the place must have convinced them that it was in truth deserted. But now, of a sudden, there was a sound behind them. It was a creak on the rusty stairs. It was followed by a heavy thud and absolute silence.
“What was that?” asked Dick.