“Yes,” Carl answered, “and we’re likely to meet old Ali Baba at any minute! I wish we could put the old rascal into a stone jar and fill it with boiling oil,” the boy added with a grin.
“I guess we’ll be the boilees of anything of that kind takes place here to-night,” Jimmie argued. “They’ll simply be red-headed when they find out that we’ve penetrated their treasure cave.”
“We’re always butting into something that makes our death desirable,” complained Carl. “Don’t you hear those fellows coming in?”
“I don’t hear anything, do you?”
“Not a thing!”
“They don’t have to come in here after us, anyway!” Jimmie argued. “They can just sit by the entrance with a little automatic and catch us when we get starved out!”
“Perhaps there’s something in here in the way of provisions,” suggested Carl. “If there is, it’ll take them a long time to freeze us out. And while they’re doing it, the boys will come up to investigate and get us out. Let’s look and see what there is here.”
Jimmie turned his electric on one of the casks and read the letters burned into the head.
“Whiskey!” he said turning up his nose in disgust.
“But they must have provisions here if they keep a bonded warehouse like this,” urged Carl. “Let’s keep looking.”