“Sure.”
“Take time to get hold of it.”
“Got it.”
“Shoot at the first flash of light. That’ll fix ’em. They’re cowards. All natives are.” Pant jerked out the sentences as he crawled rapidly.
They were none too soon. In another moment a match flared. Seemingly in the same instant, so quick was Johnny’s movement, a blinding flash leaped from the floor and a deafening roar tore the tomb-like silence.
Johnny had fired at the ceiling, but this was quite enough. The light flared out. There was no more lighting of matches.
Creeping stealthily forward, avoiding the overturning of the smallest stone or bit of shale which might betray their position, they soon neared the entrance.
“Gotta make a run for it,” breathed Pant. “Automatic ready?”
“Ready.”
“Give ’em three rounds, then beat it. Make a dash to the right the instant you’re outside. Ready?”