"Of course, I appreciate that," rejoined Jack, not quite making out what Pete meant, but thinking it wiser to abstain from asking questions at the moment, "but how are we to get out?"
"Dunno right now," said Pete, scratching his head abstractedly.
"I have it," cried Jack suddenly. "We'll burn the door down."
"What about matches?"
"There are still some embers on the hearth there, and a pile of brush beside it. I'm sure we can do it."
"Well, let's get to work, then," said Pete, who seemed strangely ill at ease.
A goodly pile of brush was soon piled against the rough door and ignited by means of taking an ember from the fire and blowing on it till it burst into flame. Up roared the flames, the timber fire crackling against the stone roof and filling the hut with a choking smoke. Luckily, most of this escaped by the window, or they might have run a good chance of being suffocated.
"Say, it'll take a year to burn through the door at this rate," choked out Jack, after fifteen minutes or so of this.
"It would if we were going to burn through it, but we ain't," chuckled Pete. "Let the fire burn down now—or, better still, there's some water in that jar; just throw it over the blaze."