“Thunder don’t smell like that,” suggested Jimmie, sniffing at the powder smoke. “I guess Sam has been having company.”
“Right you are,” said Sam, doing his best to keep the note of apprehension out of his voice. “Our friends are now occupying the tunnel you told me about. At least one of them was, not long ago.”
“Now, see here,” Jimmie broke in, “I’m getting tired of this hide-and-seek business around this blooming old ruin. We came out to sail in the air, and not crawl like snakes through underground passages.”
“What’s the answer?” asked Carl.
“According to Sam’s story,” Jimmie went on, “we won’t be able to signal our friends with our red lights to-night. In that case, they’re likely to fly by, on their way south, without discovering our whereabouts.”
“And so you want to go back to the machine, eh?” Sam questioned.
“That’s the idea,” answered Jimmie. “I want to get up into God’s free air again, where I can see the stars, and the snow caps on the mountains! I want to build a roaring old fire on some shelf of rock and build up a stew big enough for a regiment of state troops! Then I want to roll up in a blanket and sleep for about a week.”
“That’s me, too!” declared Carl.
“It may not be possible to get to the machine,” suggested Sam.
“I’ll let you know in about five minutes!” exclaimed Jimmie darting recklessly across the corridor and into the chamber which had by mutual consent been named the den of lions.