The man shouted again.
“I’ll get you out of there in a moment,” yelled Bob.
Attacking the second door, he finally burst it open; and as the man stepped from the black and forbidding enclosure Bob Somers regarded him in speechless astonishment.
For a few seconds the two stood gazing fixedly into each other’s faces. Then the boy, with a mighty effort, partly recovered his composure.
“Hello, Jed Warren!” he exclaimed, extending his hand. “I guess you haven’t forgotten the Rambler Club.”
The eyes of Jed Warren, former cowpuncher, later a member of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police, were staring at him; his mouth was open. The situation seemed unreal—impossible. Here was a boy whom he had last seen on Circle T Ranch in Wyoming; and now to have him appear before his vision in such an amazing manner staggered his comprehension.
“Bob—Bob Somers!” he gasped. “Bob!” He seized the Rambler’s hand and wrung it with powerful force. “I don’t—I can’t understand! Bob, is this really you?”
A revulsion of feeling came to Bob Somers. He felt like dancing and shouting for joy. Instead of a disheartening failure, his haphazard trip had brought him the most wonderful success. Right before him stood his friend, Jed Warren, for whom every man on the mounted force had been on the lookout. And it had fallen to his lot not only to discover his whereabouts, but to release him from imprisonment.
Yet, with the evidence before his eyes, Bob Somers could scarcely realize it. And if he was excited and astounded at the outcome Jed Warren continued to be even more so. The policeman passed his hand across his forehead as though in a daze. He stared hard at the lad and shook his head.
“This has sure put my brain in a whirl, Bob Somers,” he exclaimed. “I’ve got to get some air mighty fast. Come—see if it seems any more real outside.”