“We must find some way of getting out of this place, or we’ll be more than hungry. Can you stretch those cords a little bit, Billy?”
“Crickey!” exclaimed the younger lad again. “I’ve done all of that I want to. Don’t you see my wrists are bleeding?”
“I know, Billy. So are mine. And Dummy——”
He rolled over with an effort to look at the strange lad. The latter was weeping softly, the tears running unchecked down his dusty face. His legs still hurt him most woefully, without doubt.
“Well,” grunted Dan, “I guess we needn’t look to him for much help. If we are going to get out of this mess, Billy, we’ve got to do it ourselves.”
“I have a sharp knife in my pocket, Dannie——”
“So have I. Sharper than yours. But how’ll we get at either of them—and how use them?” demanded Dan.
“Well! what else is there?”
“Let me think,” said Dan.
“A lot of good thinkin’ will do us,” growled Billy.