“Yes, but we can handle them,” said Frank. “There isn’t much nerve left in them by this time.”
“I say, boys, I can’t stand this,” burst out Billy. “Open the door and let them out.”
Billy’s words brought murmured echoes of approval from Pete and Honey.
“You’ve got to stand it,” Frank said in a tone of command. He surveyed his mutinous crew with a stern look of authority.
“I can’t do it,” Honey admitted.
“I feel sick,” Pete groaned.
Just then emerged from the pandemonium within another sound, curt and sharp-cut, the crash against the door of something heavy.
“That door won’t stand much of that,” Frank warned. “They’ll get out before we know it.”
The look of irresolution went like a flash from Billy’s face, from Honey’s, from Pete’s. The look of the hunter took its place, keen, alert, determined, cruel.
“Keep close behind me,” Frank ordered.