Ned, by the flaring light of the match, brushed away the mould which flourished in that unwholesome place and seated himself on the stone floor, his back against the wall. Jimmie, seeking physical companionship, nestled close to him.
“Gee,” the little fellow remarked, with a snicker, “you thinkin’ of takin’ up a homestead here?”
“I’m going to remain in this room until the workers in the other chamber go away,” was the reply. “I’ve taken a notion to look into that apartment.”
“And if they don’t go away?”
“I’ll wait until they do. It is probable that they do all their work at night.”
“Then you won’t have to wait long,” the boy replied. “It was growing light in the east when we came down here.”
Jimmie dropped off into a restless sleep after a time, and Ned sat there waiting and listening, just as Frank, a short time later, waited and listened on the porch of the cottage in the jungle. When the boy awoke it was with a start of anxiety.
“The boys will think we’re dead,” he exclaimed.
“I hope they won’t try to follow us,” Ned whispered.
“If they do,” the other said, “they’ll find signs in twigs and stones all the way along. The stone heaps point the way to this place, and give the warning at the place where the stairs begin.”