“What are we going to do?”
“Get out of here if possible.”
“I like that ‘if possible’! There doesn’t look to me to be a chance on earth.”
“If only we could get these ropes off! Say, mine are kind of loose around the wrists! Maybe I can wriggle out of ’em. If I can, we can at least get the use of our hands and feet again.”
Nat worked hard for half an hour or more on his wrist bonds and finally succeeded in stretching them till he could get his hands free. In their haste, the Harleys had not bothered to tie the ropes really tight or the boys’ plight would have indeed been a desperate one.
“Whoopee! I’m loose,” he cried presently. “Lucky the Harleys didn’t bother to search us or we might have more hard work ahead of us, but I reckon this knife will help some.”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out his knife and slashed at his leg bonds. In another minute he was free, and Joe’s liberty followed immediately.
“Now for some matches,” exclaimed Joe.
“I think I’ve got some,” responded Nat. “Yes, hurray, here’s a whole box!”
He struck a lucifer and a yellow flame flared up, illumining their surroundings. They saw that they were in a smallish excavation with bricked-up sides. From the walls hung moldering chains suggesting that at one time the place might have been used as a prison for rebellious Indians or fractious monks. But the boys didn’t waste much time in looking at their prison. By common consent they made for the stairway.