“Can’t you get loose?” they heard a voice reply; they recognized it as Mallory’s. “Oh, man, you must get loose! Try! Try! We can’t help you! There’s a knob inside there! Turn it, turn it, and the door’ll open.”
“How can I turn it?” screamed Bull. “I can’t get near it! I’m tied! I—oh, merciful Heaven help me! We’re suffocating.”
The cries from the yearlings increased in terror; outside they heard the blows of a pickax beating against the wall. Their hearts bounded in hope; they gasped in suspense; but then suddenly the sound ceased.
“I can’t do a thing!” It was Texas who spoke. “The walls are too hard. We can’t help them, they’re gone.”
“And we!” cried Mark. “Fellows, we’re murderers!”
“Who knows of this yere place?” demanded Texas. “Nobody’ll ever find ’em. Fellers, let’s go back to camp and swear we never saw ’em.”
“Oh, don’t leave us! Don’t leave us!” wailed Bull. “Oh! oh!”
The others joined in with their horrified shrieks, but they might as well have cried to the stones. They heard rapidly receding footsteps, and even a heartless, triumphant laugh. And a moment later there was nothing left but stone for the agonized yearlings to cry to.
The six conspirators outside, having retreated to a far corner of the cave, to talk over the success of their ruse, were considering that last mentioned point then. Indian, ever tender-hearted and nervous, wanted to let them out now, he was sure they’d dropped dead of fright; all their vociferous yells from the distance could not persuade him otherwise.
“Bless my soul!” he whispered, in an awe-stricken voice. “They’ll suffocate.”