"Well, I wish I could of see my mothar when she open this letter and of the two hundred dollars take out," said Iggy, as he gave the epistle to a messenger to see that it was mailed, together with cards and letters previously prepared by the other Khaki Boys. "She will hop—no, that is not the word—she will dance for of joy."
"Well, let us dance out and get the chocolate while the going's good!" cried Jimmy.
As he spoke a deeper boom from some distant, great gun came to their ears, and the ground trembled.
"Sounds as though they were coming nearer," commented Bob.
"Or else they're using longer range cannon," added Roger.
"Well," said Jimmy, "as long as we——"
He never finished the sentence. In the midst of it the words were drowned, swallowed up, obliterated in one great crash. It seemed to be exactly on top of the dugout of which the five Khaki Boys were now the only occupants.
And coincident with the crash there came complete darkness, while the deafening noise was followed by smaller concussions.
"It's a cave-in! The walls are collapsing!" cried Bob.
"I'm covered with dirt!" came Roger's voice faintly from the darkness. "Fellows, we're buried alive! Buried alive!"