It may be imagined with what anxiety Ned had been watching this little scene through the crevice.
"The time has come," he whispered to his companions. "Moxley won't wake in a hurry now. But to make sure, suppose you mount guard there, Randy."
"What are you going to do?" asked Randy, as he crouched down on the floor. "Break the door open?"
"Not much. I'll show you in a moment."
The closet in which the boys were confined was built right against the rear end of the mill. Its dimensions were ample—eight feet long and about four wide. Underneath was the wasteway, but its usual roar was now subdued by an influx of water from the flooded creek.
Ned had been quietly examining the situation during the day, and had noted the shaky condition of the floor planks. He now directed Clay and Nugget to stand close to the door. Then kneeling down he inserted both hands in a crevice between two of the planks and pulled with all his might.
A ripping noise, a sharp crack—and the worm eaten plank came free of the beams, leaving a gaping orifice in the very center of the floor, four feet long by a foot and a half wide.
Ned trembled like a leaf.
"Is it all right?" he whispered eagerly.
"Yes," replied Randy. "The rascal is sound asleep. He didn't budge."