"Did you say you can see somebody in there?" asked Blake.
"Yes; figures moving about."
"Call to them."
"Maybe they're Germans!" exclaimed Charlie.
"They probably are," Blake answered. "But we've got to be rescued from here and take our chance with them. It's better than being buried alive. Hello, there!" he shouted. "Help us get out!" and he began tearing at the stones with his hands.
Seeing his object, his chums helped him. And then some one on the other side of the rocky barrier also began pulling down the stones, so that in a little while, the light becoming momentarily greater, the boys saw a way of escape open to them.
But it was a strange way. For when the rocks had been pulled down sufficiently to enable them to crawl through, they emerged into a space—a small room, as it were—walled with solid logs. Logs also formed the roof. It was a room lighted by a lantern, and on a pile of bags in one corner lay a huddled figure of a man. Standing near him was another man—a man in a ragged blue uniform—and at the sight of his face Blake murmured:
"Lieutenant Secor!"
"At your service!" said the Frenchman, bowing slightly.
"No!" bitterly cried Blake. "Not at our service—you traitor!"