“Better not take too much at a time,” Jim warned. “Drink a little, then rest and drink some more.” The suggestion was carried out. Several times they did it, then, with a sigh, Mills rolled over and closed his eyes.

“Hey, Mills, what’s the matter with you?” Lang shook him roughly by the shoulder.

“Dog tired,” he answered. “I’m going to sleep.”

“Sure that water didn’t knock you out?” Lang persisted fearfully.

“It’s grand water. I’m going to sleep beside it, have some more when I wake up, then go on,” he said heavily.

“So’m I,” Lang declared, but he took the precaution to tie the ends of the ropes which bound the arms of the Flying Buddies to separate trees so that they could not help each other to get away, then he, too, closed his eyes. Jim watched him several minutes, the smallest flash light in one hand, a gun in the other. The boy thought that he could keep awake and that he and his buddy could make some plan, but his own lids grew heavy and presently all of them were sound asleep, in spite of the terrors which surrounded them.

It seemed to Austin as if he had barely closed his eyes when he felt something brush gently against his cheek and instantly he was wide awake. The first thing he noticed was the dim light sending its feeble ray into the darkness, cutting a faint glow which made the rest of the place blacker. The boy tried to brush his face on his shoulder, which ached woefully but as far as he could see or feel there was nothing near him. Mills snored melodiously, while the deep breathing of the other two could be heard plainly, but no other sound broke the death-like stillness of the ancient passage.

“Reckon I’m so tired and sore I’m imagining things,” he told himself, then glanced across to where Caldwell was huddled like himself close to a tree. The boy closed his eyes again, but a moment later they were wide open, so he shifted his position quietly and began to try to make a plan which would help them get away. Carefully he moved his face about the ground hoping to discover a sharp stone upon which he might rub the rope until it was cut in two, but he found nothing, then he began to hitch and wriggle his body. It was a mighty painful process for his arms were swollen and he dared not make a sound. At last, after a grim struggle, he had the satisfaction of feeling the lariat shove upward toward his shoulders. If he could get it as high as his neck he would be free. With a heart pounding hopefully he 

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