"Say," demanded Lanky disdainfully, "what could the sillies find to live on all these years since any meal was served in this dining room?"
"Ask me something easy, Lanky," urged Paul. "But I'm sure there are rats in plenty around, for I saw one—a monster, too, if as thin as a rail—when I said what I did."
"All I hope then," continued Lanky, with a shrug, "is that the varmints don't swarm around our grub and clean us out. We'd have to live off the country then, and eat all sorts of queer dishes—grizzly bear steaks, coyote chops, prairie-dog stews, and such delicacies."
"Let up, Lanky," urged Frank. "You know Paul's a bit squeamish about his stomach, and you'll get him off his feed. Listen! What was that?"
"Sounded like a horse neighing," said Lanky, looking startled.
"I hear hoofs beating the rocks!" Frank ejaculated. "And I'd judge it was a right big bunch of nags, to boot! We can't pass out of that door because they're coming from that direction and heading right this way!"
Paul turned his eyes on Frank, who, he realized, must solve the problem.
CHAPTER XVII