CHAPTER XI.
TRAPPED!
Cautiously awakening his companions one by one, Jack told them of his adventures while in the pig pen.
“The scoundrels!” exclaimed the professor, “we must act at once.”
“Now hold your horses,” drawled Coyote Pete in the easy tone he always adopted when danger was near, “it ain’t our move yet. If I ain’t very much mistaken we’ll have all the action we want in a very short time, too. As a first step I’d suggest we bar that door yonder,—the one that Jack sneaked out of—I see it’s got a good big latch on the inside. In that way we’ll head off an attack frum thar, an’ we’ll only have the trap door from below to look after.”
The heavy bar being noiselessly placed in its hasps, Pete outlined his further plans.
“They’ll figger we are asleep,” he said, “but it ain’t likely they’ll jump us till they’ve sent someone up to make sure. It’s our play then ter git back on the straw and all snore as natural as possible.”
“What then?” asked Walt Phelps in rather an alarmed tone. “We’ve only got one rifle.”
“That’s so, consarn it,” grunted Pete, “wall, we’ll hev ter do ther best we can an’—hush, hyar comes the advance guard now!”