Chester now made an effort to rise. He got to his feet more cautiously, however, and so did not hurt himself. Nevertheless, the lad gave an exclamation of alarm.
“Bump your head, too?” asked Hal.
“No,” was the reply.
“What’s the trouble then?”
“Trouble is,” said Chester, “that we seem to be buried in here.”
“Oh, I guess it’s not as bad as that,” said Hal hopefully, and, getting to his feet cautiously, he began to explore.
The dugout, before the explosion, had been a small building, possibly fifteen feet wide and as many feet long. It was entirely covered by a roof of wood. This, Hal found by exploration, seemed to have come down to within five feet of the floor and to be wedged down by a heavy weight outside.
“We’re buried, all right,” said Hal at last, “but I guess we can get out. We’ll have to dig.”
“All right,” said Chester. “Let’s begin. I’ve got a knife here.”
Hal also produced a knife and the lads fell to work upon the roof at one end. After half an hour of strenuous work Hal sat down and wiped a moist brow.