“What of it?” I said in agony, as the perspiration stood upon my brow.
“Yes, what on it? They’ll dig us out like we do the taters out of a clamp. What’s the good o’ being in a wax. I wish I’d some more rabbud.”
I drew in a long breath, and sat down as far from the sealed-up opening as I could get, and listened to the rustling trickling noise made by the sand every now and then, as more and more seemed to be coming in, and I knew most thoroughly now that our only course was to wait till Ike missed us, and came and dug us out.
“And that can’t be long,” I thought, for we must have been in here two or three hours.
All at once I heard a peculiar soft beating noise, and my heart leaped, for it sounded like the quick strokes of a spade at regular intervals.
“Hear that, Shock?” I cried.
“Hear what?” he said, and the noise ceased.
“Somebody digging,” I cried joyfully.
“No. It was me—my feet,” he said, and the sound began again, as I realised that he must be lying in his old attitude, kicking his legs up and down.
If I had any doubt of it I was convinced the next moment, for he burst out: