"I don't know, but there's no need of usin' it any faster than's necessary. We'll put out two of the lamps; one is enough, an' we may be mighty glad to drink the oil."
Fred was very nearly incapable of action. The knowledge that his companions had lost hope literally dazed him, and he could not even follow Sam's suggestion.
Two of the lamps were extinguished, and since Fred was the only one retaining the means of dispelling the darkness, Sam and Skip forced him on ahead as they went still further into the tunnel where the air would be more pure.
"This is the only point from which we may expect aid," Sam said, "an' seein' that we can do nothin' it's better to stay here."
"Won't Joe and Bill try to help us?" Fred asked.
"They'll try, but whether it'll be possible to do anything is another matter."
"Can't we begin to dig? We've got one shovel."
"Neither of us knows in which direction to start, an' when workin' more food would be needed, therefore, to keep alive as long as possible we'd better stay quiet."
Skip threw himself on the floor close to the end of the cutting, as if reconciled to whatever might happen, and Sam sat down beside him.
"Do you think there is any chance that we can get out of here?" Fred asked after a long silence, and Sam replied, gravely: