The two men and Slade again crept through the opening into the cellar and approached the door leading down to the mine. “You say there’s five of ’em inside,” remarked Latrobe. “Are any of ’em scrappers?”
“Huh!” grunted Slade. “That fellow Blake is pretty strong and plenty handy with his football stuff, and there’s a fat guy that might knock you cold, if he jumped on you like he did me. The rest ain’t heavy-weights, but I guess maybe they’d fight if you got ’em cornered.”
“Well, you go out and tell Casey to come down as soon as he gets the truck in place,” decided Latrobe. “There’s no good taking chances of one of ’em getting past us.”
Slade left the cellar and soon returned, accompanied by a burly individual who carried a short cudgel in his hand. “What’s the matter?” demanded the newcomer. “Can’t the three of you handle five boys? Open that door,” he continued savagely. “Let me at ’em!”
“Easy there, Casey,” warned Latrobe. “I’m running this show. We don’t want any broken heads unless it’s necessary, but if they try to rush us—well, don’t let any of ’em get past, that’s all.”
As Slade removed the timber and opened the door a cautious crack, Latrobe, with Miller and Casey at his elbow, peered through it into the mine below. For a moment the growl of low-voiced talk came to the ears of the boys where they crouched in their hiding-places; then Latrobe flung the door wide and stepped through it onto the stairs. “Come on out of there now!” he shouted. “Let’s have a look at you!” His shout went echoing down the tunnel, but no other sound broke the stillness.
“They’re here all right,” declared Miller. “Look at that lantern burning. They probably took the other light and went down into the tunnel.”
“The dump-car is gone,” announced Slade. “Look how they hammered this door trying to break it down!”
Latrobe directed his flashlight upon the battered door and examined it carefully; then turning, he played the rays along the pile of boxes and barrels that littered the cellar. Caution was one of Latrobe’s habits, and to the frightened watchers it seemed that their very breathing must be audible to his keen ears; but after a long moment of heart-breaking suspense, he again turned and went clumping down the stairs followed by the other three.
As the last form disappeared through the low doorway, Ned Blake crept silently from his place behind the barrels. Dick Somers was at his elbow and together they stole softly forward. A glance through the door showed Latrobe, Miller, and Slade grouped at the foot of the stairs watching Casey, who club in hand, strode down into the black mouth of the tunnel.