“I was layin' on a board what I'd worked loose at one end,” he whispered hoarsely, “back ob de bench, but I couldn't jerk it out wid'out somethin'       ter pry it up wid.”      

       “Where is it?”      

       “Right yere, Massa Jack.”      

       It was a heavy twelve-inch plank, part of the flooring, and the second from the side-wall. Keith managed to get a grip next to the black fingers, and the two pressed it up far enough for the white man to run one arm through the opening up to his shoulder and grope about below.     

       “There's a two-foot space there,” he reported, as they let the board settle silently down into position. “The back part of this building must be set up on piles. I reckon we could pry that plank up with the bench, Neb, but it's liable to make considerable racket. Let's hunt about first for some other weak spot.”      

       They crept across the floor, testing each separate board, but without discovering a place where they could exert a leverage. The thick planks were tightly spiked down. Nor did the walls offer any better encouragement. Keith lifted himself to the grated window, getting a glimpse of the world without, but finding the iron immovable, the screws solidly imbedded in the outside wood. He dropped to the floor, feeling baffled and discouraged.     

       “It will have to be the plank back of the bench, Neb,” he announced briefly, wiping the perspiration from his face. “Get down there, and work it as loose as you can without making any noise, while I keep my ear to the door and listen for any interruption.”      

       They took turns at this labor, discovering a loose nail which gave an opening purchase at the crack, thus enabling the insertion of a small wooden block, and insuring space for a good finger grip when the right time came. A sleepy Mexican brought in their dinner, and set it down on the bench without a word, but on his return with supper, the marshal accompanied him, and remained while they ate, talking to Keith, and staring about the room. Fortunately, the single window was to the west, and the last rays of the sun struck the opposite wall, leaving the space behind the bench in deep shadow. Whatever might be the plans of “Black Bart” and his cronies, Keith was soon convinced they were unknown to      

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