“And the man who swung the gate into position?” questioned Carl. “What do you think he’ll be doing while we’re pulling down that heap of stones? You’ve got to think of something better than that, my son!”
“Anyway,” Jimmie said, hopefully, “Sam is on the outside, and he’ll soon find out that we’ve been caught in a trap.”
“I don’t want to pose as a prophet of evil, or anything like that,” Carl went on, “but it’s just possible that he may have been caught in a trap, too. Anyway, it’s up to us to go ahead and get out, if we can, without any reference to assistance from the outside.”
“Go ahead, then!” Jimmie exclaimed. “I’m in with anything you propose!”
The boys now exerted their united strength on the bars of the gate, but all to no purpose. So far as they could determine, the iron contrivance had been dropped down from above into grooves in the stone-work on either side. The bars were an inch or more in thickness, and firmly enclosed in parallel beams of small size which crossed them at regular intervals.
Seeing the condition of affairs, Jimmie suggested:
“Perhaps we can push it up!”
“Anything is worth trying!” replied Carl.
But the gate was too firmly in place to be moved, even a fraction of an inch, by their joint efforts.
“Now, see here,” Jimmie said, after a short and almost painful silence, “there’s no knowing how long we may be held in this confounded old dungeon. We’ll need light as long as we’re here, so I suggest that we use only one flashlight at a time.”