“Get up off me and I’ll try to stand up. Give me a hand to rise. That’s it—wow, but it’s painful!”
“Do you think you can use it, Harry?”
“Y-y-y-yes,” came bravely from poor Hardware, who was suffering excruciating pain, “but it feels as if a million little dwarfs were poking needles in it.”
“Lean on me a minute. If we could only find some water, I’d bandage it. Say, we seem to be the two most unlucky kids on earth!”
“That’s what. I wonder if we’ll ever get out of this?”
Young Simmons made no reply. For the life of him he could not have found words just at that moment. It was all he could do to choke back his sobs. He was a plucky enough lad, yet he could hardly be blamed for feeling a pang of black despair clutching at his heart as he revolved in his mind their truly desperate situation. After a minute he regained control of himself, however.
“We’ll light up and have a look around,” he said, as cheerily as he could. “I want to see what sort of place it is that we’ve dropped in on so unceremoniously.”
He struck a match; but it was instantly blown out. Both lads now noticed for the first time that quite a stiff breeze was blowing against their faces. The air felt fresh and chilly and evidently came from some opening further along.
“Well, this breeze is a good sign,” declared Hardware; “it means that this place must open out somewhere along the route.”
“Blithering blizzards, that’s so!” cried young Simmons with a gleam of his customary cheerfulness. “Do you think you can walk, old man?”