The boys still had their blankets slung over their shoulders. Rather strangely, as it seemed to them now that they had time to think it over, none of their belongings had been taken from them. Even Raymond’s revolver was still in his possession.
“It isn’t a very attractive bed, that’s a fact,” said Sidney.
“I’d like to get rid of my load, too.” And Raymond looked around to see if by any chance there was a spot that was passably clean. There was no comfort to be found in examining the floor, or the plank bed, and he turned his attention to the walls. The house was built of rough stone, and the walls were not finished in any way on the inside. But rough as the walls were, there was no projection on which anything might be laid or from which it might be suspended. The window, which was about two feet square and was some five feet above the floor, was set with iron bars, but contained no glass. Raymond examined that, and said to his brother:—
“We can hang our things to these bars, Sid, if they are strong enough to hold anything, but they are nearly rusted through. Sid!” he continued in a tone of excitement, “I believe we can easily break these bars out.” And he grasped one to test it.
“Hold on, Ray,” cried his brother; “don’t touch them now. We couldn’t get out until after dark, and if they found we had broken a bar, they would put us somewhere else.”
“That’s so,” assented Raymond, “but I’m sure we can break them out. They’re not so smart, after all, with their filthy old jail.”
“I expect if we do get out,” said Sidney, “that we’ll have a tough time in finding our way out of this town in the dark. My vague recollection of the place is that the streets are a regular Chinese puzzle.”
“Well,” said Raymond, “we’ll be outside of this wretched place, anyway, and I’ll take my chances then on making a getaway.”
They proceeded to suspend their blanket rolls and knapsacks from the bars, and had no more than disposed of their packs in that way when the door was thrown open and an official with two attendants entered.