"It was all of that," agreed Sandy, "and then some. But speaking of weapons, what do you know about those?"
He indicated a brace of pistols, which had been hitherto unnoticed by the lads. The weapons lay on a locker, and appeared to have been hastily deposited there by some one who had been engaged in cleaning them, for a small can of oil and some rags lay by them. The lads lost no time in pouncing on their finds.
Both proved to be loaded, and were of heavy caliber and of business-like looking blued steel.
"Look wicked enough for anything," grinned Sandy, examining his. "I don't know about the law-and-order aspect of this, but—'necessity knows no law.'"
"We would really be justified in doing anything to those ruffians," spoke Jack indignantly, "for all they cared, we might have died of hunger and thirst and suffocation in that miserable hole yonder, without a soul coming near us. I feel like facing the whole crew of the ruffianly wretches."
"Yes, let 'em come on," quoth Sandy defiantly, brandishing his pistol.
As if in answer to his words, a door at the head of a short flight of stairs was suddenly flung open, and the figure of a man appeared framed in the portal.
"Now for it," whispered Sandy. He was glad to note that in the hand which Jack impulsively thrust out to meet his, there was no sign of tremor.
Both lads flung themselves into attitudes of defense. Come what might, they felt prepared to face it, nerved by a sense of their wrongs, and of what a return to that pestilential hold would mean.