The Pony Rider Boys in the Alkali Part 42

"A-h-h-h-h!" gasped the boy, taking a fresh breath preparatory to another draught. "It's almost worth being made a prisoner for this.

I'll bet Chunky would wish to be in here if he knew. And I almost wish he were."

As if in answer to his expressed wish, the door was suddenly pushed inward, a heavy body was hurled in, landing in a heap on the rocky floor.

The door slammed shut and the bar once more fell into place.

For the moment Tad could not determine what had happened.

"I--I fell in," moaned a voice from the heap.

"Chunky!" cried Tad. "How did you get in here?"

"I--just dropped in," wailed the fat boy.

"Get up! Don't be a baby! Come here and have a drink of water----"

"Water? Water?" fairly shouted Stacy, leaping to his feet, b.u.mping against a rock in his haste. "Where? Where?"

"Here. Put your lips against the rock right here. There, you have it.

Does it taste good?"

"U-m-m-m."

"Now, you've had enough for the moment. Tell me how you got here? How did you happen to come up?" questioned Tad.

"The--the wild man--say, Tad, he looks like a monkey, doesn't he?"

"I hadn't thought of it in that light. I guess you're right, though, Chunky."

"Well, he went out on the rocks and motioned to me. I told him I couldn't leave the ponies. He said you wanted me right away, and he came down to help me stake the ponies. He was awful kind," mused Stacy, as if talking to himself.

"Go on," urged Tad. "We've got to think about what's going to become of us."

"That's all. He just led me up here. Said you were inside getting water. Then--then he threw me in. Think I hurt the floor when I hit it, Tad?"

"I guess not quite so bad as that," laughed the lad. "I want you to strike a match while I look around the place."

Stacy did so, taking his time about it. By the dim light thus made, they discovered a little pool of water in a far corner of the chamber, where the trickling stream had found it's way. With their drinking cups, which, with their canteens, the boys always carried, they dipped the pool almost dry, filling their canteens with the cool, refreshing water, after having first fully satisfied their thirst.

"Got anything to eat?" questioned Stacy, his thoughts turning to food.

"Yes, and I'm going to keep it," answered Tad promptly.

"That's mean."

"See here, Chunky. We are prisoners. We don't know when or how we are going to get out. I have a few crusts of bread left and I propose to keep them, because we may find ourselves starving later on. You'll be glad then that I saved the bread. What do you think the hermit intends to do? Did he say anything that gave you any clue?"

"Nope."

"We'll wait a while and if he does not let us out, we'll have to find a way for ourselves."

For a time they made the best of their situation, Stacy grumbling now and then, Tad bright and cheery, though in his heart he felt far from cheerful.

"I'm going to try to break the door down," announced Tad finally, after listening intently. "I can't hear anything. I believe the hermit has gone away and left us. Get up here beside me. Take hold of my hand and we'll rush it together."

They did so, throwing their combined weight against the door.

"Ouch!" yelled Stacy.

"Never mind, try it again," encouraged Tad, laughing in spite of himself.

Once more they hurled themselves on the obstruction. It resisted all their efforts. Tad lighted a match, examining the door carefully. The light revealed a heap of blankets in a corner of the chamber, where the old hermit slept.

"Must be his bedroom," decided Chunky.

"We've got to try something else," announced Tad. "Got your knife!"

"Yes."

"Out with it. We're going to whittle. Lucky for us that our knives are big and sharp. Hold a match while I mark out the spot we're going to try to cut out."

Tad had sounded the door with his fist until he found the place where the bar on the other side held it. He also discovered sockets for an inner bar, by which the hermit probably locked himself in at night.

Then he began cutting.

"You start in here and keep to your side so you don't cut my hands,"

the lad directed.

The crunching sound of their knives began immediately, the work going on more slowly in the darkness than would have been the case had they had light. Now and then the lads would pause to listen. Not a sound penetrated to their prison. Tad thought this very strange, unless perhaps the hermit might be lying in wait to fall upon them in case they did succeed in freeing themselves.

"Say, Tad."

"Well?"

"I've got an idea." Chunky's knife had been silent for a few moments.

"What is it?"

"Let's burn down the old door."

"How!"

"I'll show you."

Stacy sc.r.a.ped industriously for a time, then lighting a match applied it to the spot on which he had been working. The splinters caught fire burned up briskly then went out. Stacy repeated the process with a similar result.

"I guess that will help a little," decided Tad, running his fingers over the spot.

"Just like singeing the pin feathers off an old hen--the feathers burn, but the hen doesn't," grumbled Stacy.