He gave an answering hail, then attacked the door with all the strength of his sturdy muscles.
“Help—help!”
This appeal coming once more made Bob Somers work with redoubled vigor. All his efforts went for naught. As though built to resist attack, the panels scarcely jarred beneath his most furious onslaught.
With his pulse quickened by excitement, the Rambler, even in those busy moments, asked himself over and over again what this new mystery could mean. He was thankful indeed that good fortune had led him into this narrow gulch to aid some one in distress.
“I’ll have to break in,” he decided.
Taking a short-handled axe from his belt he sent blows crashing one after another around the lock. Chips of wood flew about him. Crash—smack—bang! The sound of rending wood and the sharp snap of splintering panels told him that his work would soon be over.
Scarcely taking an instant to regain his breath, he struck harder and harder, until at last the lock was shattered, and the door, with a convulsive movement, staggered back.
But where was the man he had expected to see?
For a second Bob Somers’ eyes, blinded by the brilliant light of out-of-doors, could discern but little in the darkened interior. Then the obscurity appeared to melt away, and in place of the shadows he saw a mellow glow, through which the furnishings revealed themselves in blurred patches of darks and softened lights.
A glance showed him that the interior was divided into two rooms. It was from the other, then, that the shouts had come. Another sturdy door lay between him and the prisoner.