“What then?”
“We can do but one thing at a time. We must escape. And after that—” She did not finish.
The boy found it difficult, this discussing plans with one he could not see, had never seen.
“I could soon cut a small hole between two logs,” he told himself.
He thought of suggesting this, but considered it better to wait.
He set about planning their escape methodically. The staple that held the padlock to his door was large. It was clinched on the inside. By working first with a nail pulled out of the wall, then a bit of wire, he managed to straighten these points. Then, little by little, without sound, he pushed the staple back until only the points showed.
“Two or three good yanks and the door will fly open,” he confided to the girl.
“But mine? How are we to manage it?”
Red pondered this problem. He could, he told himself, pass his crude instruments through to her. But were her fingers strong enough for the task? He doubted this.
He studied the wall that lay between them. He was at a loss to account for this wall, which had, from all appearances, stood there for some years. Then it occurred to him that a trapper had built the cabin, using one room for himself, the other for his dogs. Campers of a later date had doubtless cleared up the dogs’ kennel and made a bunk room of it without removing the partition.