"Nailed!" he exclaimed disappointedly as he jumped to the floor. "Shall we call?" Phil nodded.
"Tod. Oh, Tod!"
Only silence. Again they called.
"Tod—Tod Fulton."
There was an answer this time, but not of the sort nor from the direction the boys expected. It was more like a whine than a groan this time, and it came from the far side of the room. For the first time the boys noticed that there was a door there, partly open. They made a rush for it, Jerry in the lead. But he got no farther than the threshold. As he reached it, the door was flung open in his face.
In the doorway stood a sixteen-year-old girl, a slim, black-haired slip of a thing, her black eyes snapping. One hand was doubled up into a fist that would have made any boy laugh, but there was no laughter in the other hand. It brandished a wicked looking hand-axe, and it was evident from the way she handled it that there was strength in those scrawny arms.
"You get out of here!" she commanded, advancing a step.
Jerry backed away hastily, but Phil only laughed, trying to balance himself on the two and a half legs of the wrecked chair.
"I've seen you before, Lizzie, and you don't scare me a bit with that meat axe."
"It's no meat axe; it's a wood axe—look out for your heads," she retorted scornfully. "Clear out of here or I'll make kindling of both of you."