Finding that escape in this direction was impossible, the boys made their way back to the other end, but found there was no exit there. They then came back to the stairs that led to the room above. Here they held a consultation, and decided to mount the stairs and see what could be learned. Cautiously ascending the stairs, Injun listened at the door; and, after a moment, reported to Whitey that there were several men in the room playing cards and discussing the situation. After examining the lock by the light of one of the splinters, Whitey saw that it could be opened by simply turning the knob; and returning to the floor of the cavern, he formulated a plan, which, although a desperate one and probably likely to fail, seemed to be their only chance.
"It's dark by this time," said Whitey, "and probably the only light in the room is a swinging one over the table, like all the ranch-houses have." Injun nodded assent, and Whitey continued: "We'll both go to the top of the stairs, and I'll open the door quickly and smash the lamp. There'll be a big fuss and confusion, and maybe you can slip through the room and out one of the windows without being caught. What do you think of it?"
Injun thought a while and finally nodded; he knew that the ranch-house windows were barred, but he also knew that he could probably wiggle through them, and he indicated that he was ready as soon as Whitey was. Whitey selected a stout stick at the corral, and noiselessly the two boys climbed the stairs, and Whitey cautiously turned the knob. The door swung back toward them noiselessly, and by good luck the doors of the wardrobe that concealed the door were partially closed. In another second, Whitey and Injun stood in the wardrobe.
From his position Whitey could see a part of the room, and he pointed out to Injun that there was a window at the end of the room through which the latter might climb without having to pass the table. Injun was to remain behind one of the doors of the wardrobe until Whitey had smashed the lamp, and then he was to make a run for it. The conversation of the men was plainly audible.
"I ain't none too stuck on the bet as she lays," said the heavy voice of Ross, who had by this time imbibed considerable whiskey, "an' I ain't shore but the best thing 'd be to choke thet kid an' chuck him in the river. Ef he ever gits loose, it's good night!"
There was a murmur of assent at this from some of the men, but Crowley was plainly against it. "Yo' all is afraid o' yo'r own shadder! In the first place, how's he goin' t' git loose? The' ain't no way fer him t' git out 'n thet cellar 'cept through this room, even ef he got shet of 'bout twenty-five foot o' rope thet was drawed some tight 'round his arms an' legs. An' 't looks like we all might stop him 'fore he got very far ef he come this way!" and Crowley looked about him contemptuously. "I'm a heap more 'fraid o' facin' a murder indictment 'n I am of anythin' thet kid er the hull, blame Bar O outfit kin do! I tell yo' the' ain't no danger o' their findin' him 'n the' is o' thet lamp explodin'!"
Whitey had set himself for the spring, and he threw open the doors of the wardrobe and reached the table in one bound. With a blow of the stick he shattered the lamp, and then swung it about him vigorously. Taken entirely unawares, and being totally ignorant of what had struck them, there was indescribable pandemonium for a time. The room was in almost utter darkness, and several of the men having received hearty whacks over the head from the club in Whitey's hands, contributed shouts and curses to the general uproar.
"What the jumpin' tom-cuts has struck us?" shouted Crowley in consternation as he received a whack across his face from the stick, and a deep and fervent oath from Ross indicated that he, too, had "got his."
Each was afraid to shoot lest he hit one of his own gang, and, indeed, the whole outfit was at a decided disadvantage. No one saw the sinuous Injun as he glided out of the wardrobe and slipped along the wall to the window. The bars were not very far apart, but it is probable that Injun would have gone through any space that a rattlesnake could; and in less time that it takes to tell it, Injun had squirmed his way between the bars and dropped to the ground in the darkness outside.
The solid thumps that Whitey bestowed on the various anatomical parts of those at the table had the effect of scattering them in all directions; and they were completely in the dark as to what kind of a cyclone had struck the place. They could make no individual or concerted resistance, and the result was that they simply tried to get out of the way as best they could. The opening of a door by one of the men, who was really trying to escape, let in a flood of light, and several of the men recognized Whitey as the source of the trouble. "Holy Mackerel!" yelled Crowley, "ef 't ain't thet ragin' catamount got loose! Grab him, there, Ross, quick, afore he puts the whole dump on th' bum!"