That wasn’t any help to us, though, for it left us without Sammy just the same, and Sammy seemed to be pretty necessary. We felt we could leave the engine with him and it would be safe. He could guard the mouth of the cave sort of like Horatius at the bridge, and Batten and Bill would find it was close to impossible to chase him off. Now it looked as if either Mark or I would have to go to town, and that would leave just one boy on guard.
“It ain’t safe,” says I. “Sammy could have done it, but neither of us can alone. I wouldn’t even want to try it with both of us here.”
“Neither would I,” Mark answered. “But what are we going to do?”
“We might send word in by Mr. Grey,” I says. “He could send out help.”
The buggy was almost to us now, and without thinking how he might frighten the horse Mark stepped into the road and held up his hand. The horse snorted, jerked back, and then took the bit in his teeth and tore off as tight as he could go. Mark had to jump quicker than I ever saw him jump before to get out of the way.
It did seem as if luck was against us. We stood there a minute and looked after the rig, which was getting farther away every second.
“Let’s get back to the cave and see what there is to do,” I says.
Mark never said a word, but just started off with a discouraged hunch to his shoulders, and I trailed after. We sat down in front of the cave, tired, hungry, and pretty sick of the whole business.
CHAPTER XVII
It was early in the morning yet—before seven. Folks in Wicksville were just getting up, but it seemed to Mark and me that we’d been awake a week. For a while we didn’t do anything but sit on the sand in front of the cave and wish we had something to eat or that somebody we could trust would come along. But there wasn’t a bit of use wishing.