“Where’s your flash?”
“Lost it yesterday morning. It must have fallen out of my pocket. Got yours?”
“I have it all right but the battery’s played out. It must have been a punk cell that fellow gave me for it hasn’t been used but a little. Wait till I see him again.”
“If you ever do,” Bob said and then quickly added, “I didn’t mean to say that. We’ve been in worse fixes than this and came out all right.”
“Yep, but I don’t recall any of them just now,” and Bob noticed a note of despair in his brother’s voice.
“How are you fixed for matches?” he asked.
“Got a box about half full.”
“Suppose you light one and we’ll take a look. I used the last one I had the other night.”
Jack struck the match and as the light flared up they looked eagerly about them but the sight was not encouraging. Beside themselves there was absolutely nothing in the pit.
“Doesn’t seem to be much here to work with,” Jack said gloomily as the match died out “Not a whole lot that’s a fact.”