“Provide them with food,” ordered the rebel leader, “and see to it that it is a good meal for it will be their last.”
The guard muttered under his breath but hastened away to carry out the command.
On one of his restless rounds of the room Tim’s foot struck something half imbedded in the floor. He managed to pull the object free and found himself the possessor of a piece of iron pipe about eighteen inches long.
“Look here, Dugan,” he exclaimed, “we ought to be able to dispose of Mr. Guard with this when he comes with our food.”
“Give it to me,” said the daredevil, “I want just one whack at that fellow’s head.”
“Not on your life,” replied Tim. “I found the pipe and I’m perfectly capable of using it. You’ll have your hands full if another guard happens along with this chap.”
The guard could be heard returning and Tim took his place behind the door. His heart beat a trifle faster and he took a fresh grip on the pipe. He heard Dugan move closer.
“There’s two of them,” whispered the daredevil. “Let them both get inside and then use that pipe.”
Tim heard one of the guards fumbling with the heavy lock, then the rattle of the chain, and finally the squeak of the rusty hinges as the door was swung open. The rays from a smoky kerosene lantern made a half-hearted attempt to pierce the gloom of their prison and the guard carrying the basket of food stepped into the room, followed by the man with the lantern. Before the rebels had a chance to get their eyes accustomed to the gloom, Tim leaped from his hiding place, his arm flashing in a quick blow that felled the man with the lantern before he could utter a cry of warning. Dugan caught the lantern as it dropped from the fingers of the unconscious soldier and Tim lunged ahead, bent on completing his task.
The man with the basket of food half turned. He saw Tim’s upraised arm but was powerless to evade the blow. His cry of alarm was cut short and he fell limp into Tim’s arms.