“That log wasn’t all rotten,” Lang declared. “Come on back and at least we can cut some of the vines, make it stronger and get out that way.”

“Yeh, en get pitched down with Red—”

“If you can think of anything better, suppose you get busy,” Lang snapped at him.

“All right, I’m comin.”

“Let them kids do the leadin’ this time,” Mills proposed, and without further ado the Flying Buddies were turned about and forced to head the march back.

“Give us a chance with our arms,” Jim urged.

“Nothing doing, you go ahead. If you slip we’ll haul you back.”

They had to be content with this uncertain promise and in a moment the hard barrel of a gun was poked in Jim’s ribs. Slowly they went ahead, and after what seemed like an eternity, they came again to the rotten log. Lang himself wriggled forward, tested it with the back of his ax, then tearing loose a number of long vines, he straddled the dangerous path, hauled himself forward with the vines, and after ten breathless minutes, he dropped off at the other side and the men he had left behind, sighed with relief.

“It’s solid over here,” he called. Then Mills made the journey, but he did not need to loosen the vines, so it took him less time, and presently he was standing beside the leader. The Flying Buddies saw the two confer, and finally nod agreement.

“Leave them kids till next to the last,” Mills ordered. Quickly the third man made his way over, then the fourth, while the fifth stood with his gun out ready to shoot if either of the boys moved.

“We can’t make it with our arms tied,” Jim protested.

“I don’t care if you make it or not. Get on there—”

“Listen, if we don’t make it, you don’t, see,” Bob spoke quietly.

“No?”

“No. It’s this way, if the log doesn’t hold us or we have to kick it much to keep on, it’s going to break good and plenty, and when it breaks, it leaves you here, just like that, caught between the two traps,” he explained, and the fellow’s face went white as a sheet.

CHAPTER IV. Ghosts

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