“What is it?” demanded the boy, sleepily.
“The others have come,” Ned replied, “and there’ll be lights in here directly.”
“I’m so wasted away with hunger,” Jimmie said, “that they’ll have to shoot pretty straight to hit me.”
One of the men by the forge now began stirring the embers preparatory to lighting a torch, and the others made for the door.
It looked as if there would be open battle in a moment, but in that moment a shot came from the outside, followed by a faint cheer.
The three men who had waited in the chamber drew together, close to the sullen light of the forge, the torches unlighted in their hands. They seemed to be whispering together, and the boys saw them turn their faces toward a corner not far from the forge.
Two more shots came from outside, and then a voice cried, in English:
“That’s Jack Bosworth,” cried Jimmie, bounding toward the entrance.
Ned followed the boy’s movement for an instant, and then faced back toward the forge, where the three workmen had stood. The last one was just disappearing through an opening in the wall, and, with a bound the boy was after him. A heavy plank door snapped shut in his face.