“I wasn’t trying to get out—I wanted to save the sandwiches,” Chunky answered, holding up the package he had salvaged. It had dropped from his pocket during his slide.
“Oh, that’s different!” remarked the tall lad.
“So’s this place—different!” exclaimed Ned, looking about in the gloom which was deeper down in this gravel pit. “Say, how are we going to get out?”
Well might he ask that, and well might his companions seek about for an answer. For their situation was getting desperate now, if it had not been before. Hitherto they were at least up on the level, where they could walk. Now they were down in a pit, almost circular, the sides of which were composed of treacherous and fine gravel. Chunky had given one demonstration of trying to climb it. Other efforts might result likewise, it could be surmised.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” muttered Jerry. “They’ll never find us down in this hole!”
“It’s easy enough to say get out,” returned Ned. “But how can we? Was it hard going, Chunky—scrambling up after the grub?”
“Hard? I’ll say it was! But maybe there’s some easier place.”
“That’s what we’ve got to try for, and we’ve got to snap into it, too,” decided Jerry. “It’ll soon be as dark as a pocket.”
By a strong effort of will the Motor Boys refused to let themselves become panic-stricken. As calmly as they could, they walked about the bottom of the pit which was about a hundred feet in diameter. Its sides sloped up at a sharp angle. It was a natural sand and gravel pit combined, but appeared never to have been worked. It was a freak of nature in a land where such things were common.
The boys tried in several places to crawl, scramble or walk up the sloping sides, but it was of such a shifting and treacherous nature, like dry quicksand, that they could never get to the top. Once Jerry was three quarters of the way up, only to slip and slide back.