“Some animal in his burrow,” said John Mangles.
Glenarvan struck his forehead.
“Who knows?” said he, “it might be a man.”
“Animal or man,” answered the Major, “I will soon find out!”
Wilson and Olbinett joined their companions, and all united to dig through the wall—John with his dagger, the others with stones taken from the ground, or with their nails, while Mulrady, stretched along the ground, watched the native guard through a crevice of the matting.
These savages sitting motionless around the fire, suspected nothing of what was going on twenty feet off.
The soil was light and friable, and below lay a bed of silicious tufa; therefore, even without tools, the aperture deepened quickly. It soon became evident that a man, or men, clinging to the sides of the “pah,” were cutting a passage into its exterior wall. What could be the object? Did they know of the existence of the prisoners, or was it some private enterprise that led to the undertaking?
The prisoners redoubled their efforts. Their fingers bled, but still they worked on; after half an hour they had gone three feet deep; they perceived by the increased sharpness of the sounds that only a thin layer of earth prevented immediate communication.
Some minutes more passed, and the Major withdrew his hand from the stroke of a sharp blade. He suppressed a cry.
John Mangles, inserting the blade of his poniard, avoided the knife which now protruded above the soil, but seized the hand that wielded it.