“I’ve got four matches,” said Darry, feeling in his pocket. “But they won’t last very long.”
“Don’t move around in the dark. You may go into one of the holes. I’ve got a newspaper. I’ll make some tapers from it.”
Frank was as good as his word, and as soon as he had rolled a dozen long tapers, he struck a match and lit one.
The light was feeble, yet it was a great deal better than nothing. By its aid they retraced their steps for several rods.
“If we could only find a dry stick of wood we might use it for a torch,” suggested our hero.
“I saw some sticks away back—let us hunt for them.”
This suggestion was carried out, and just as the last taper was used up a stick that looked as if it might burn was located. Then Frank lit the rest of the newspaper and coaxed the stick into burning. But the light at the best was a feeble one, and he had to keep blowing the fire to keep it from going out.
“You had better lead the way to daylight as quickly as you can, Darry. This torch won’t last over ten minutes.”
“All right; come on,” answered Darry Field. He was greatly frightened and set off at a dog-trot.
It was the fright of the lad which was their undoing. He made one false turn and then another, and finally came to a halt before a solid wall of stone and coal.