Читать книгу A West Point Treasure; Or, Mark Mallory's Strange Find онлайн

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Mark made a leap for the opening.

“What’s the matter?” he cried.

“Ouch!” they heard the bold Texan growl, his voice sounding hollow and muffled. “The ole ladder busted.”

“Ooo!” gasped Indian. “Are you dead?”

Texas did not condescend to answer that.

“Some o’ you fellers come in hyar now!” he roared. “I ain’t a-goin’ to stay alone.”

“What’s it like in there?” inquired Mark.

“I can’t see,” answered the other’s muffled voice. “Only it’s a floor like, an’, say, it’s got carpet!”

“A carpet!” fairly gasped those outside. “A carpet!”

“I’m going in and see,” exclaimed Mark. “Help me up.”

The rest “boosted” him with a will. With his one free arm he managed to worm his way through the opening, and then Texas seized him and pulled him through. After that the others followed with alacrity. Even Indian finally got up the “nerve,” though loudly bemoaning his fate; he didn’t want to come, but it was worse out there all alone in the woods.

Coming in from the brilliant sunlight they were blind as bats. They could not detect the faintest shade of difference in the darkness, and they stood huddled together timidly, not even daring to grope about them.