“Well, they fell on us like a cyclone,” he said. “I don’t seem to remember anything beyond an appalling bang on my head and falling on top of you. The beggars got me from behind.”
“Mine began in front—but it was so sudden,” Jim said. “He looked such a sleepy, tired lout—one never dreamed of suspecting danger. Well, it will teach us a bit of sense. The question is, what are we going to do?”
“Do you think we’re locked in?”
“Very probably, but before I see, I’m going to get my muscles in something like working order,” Jim said. “Try moving a bit and rubbing your arms and legs—don’t stand up yet, or your head will swim.”
“It’s got a lump on it the size of a golf-ball,” said Wally, feeling his pate respectfully. “By Jove, I am stiff!”
“My face is as stiff as the rest of me,” Jim answered. “Feels like much dried gore. Well, thank goodness they didn’t break any bones.”
The boys rubbed energetically for a while, a process involving severe pain, since they encountered bruises at every touch. It did them good, however, and after a little time Jim was able to stagger to his feet, and to help Wally up.
“I don’t suppose we could put up much of a fight,” he said. “But we may not have to fight at all—they can’t get any more from us. Let’s see if we’re locked in.”
They felt carefully round the walls of the malodorous building, stumbling in the filthy straw which covered the floor. Jim’s fingers, groping in the darkness, at length discovered a latch; but the door refused to yield. They experimented noiselessly at first and then, made bold by indignation, shook it violently—without result.
“It’s a stable, evidently,” Jim said. “This door’s in two halves, and the top one is the one that is jammed—the lower half is pretty rickety. Well, if any one is about, we’ll get visited—and if we don’t get the door open we’ll certainly smother. Let’s try kicking it together, Wal.”