He was at the passage at last. The fire in the outer cave had died down. There was scarcely a vestige of light. This gave him hope, for it seemed to indicate that the guard had fallen asleep, otherwise he would have replenished the fire to protect himself against the night chill.
Joe groped for the little rock shelf. At first it eluded him, but at last his hand closed upon the keys. Carefully, he raised them, his hand clutching them tightly to prevent a betraying jangle of sound.
He turned slowly to make his way back to the others. In silence he reached them and began to grope for the chain that bound them together. He found the chain at last, then the padlock, and felt in the darkness for the key to fit it.
The key at last! It was larger than the others, which he judged were the handcuff keys. The padlock snapped and he unhooked the chain.
“That’s that,” he whispered, quietly. “Now for the handcuffs.”
One by one the other boys presented their shackled wrists to him in the darkness and he groped for the key that would set them free. In a tense silence he fumbled with the locks and the handcuffs but, one by one, the handcuffs opened, one by one the boys moved quietly aside, rubbing their chafed wrists.
At last the task was finished. They were free again.
But there still remained the outer cave!
XIX
Separated
Frank Hardy led the way.
He paused in the passage for a few seconds, surveying the scene in the outer cave.
All the men were asleep. They were rolled up in their blankets and lay sprawled in the shadows. There was merely a faint crimson glow from the embers of the fire.
He did not go on all fours; he just crouched low as he moved across the cave among the sleepers. Quick, sure footsteps, as silent as those of a cat, brought him to the outer entrance.
So much depended on their escape that the lads were uncannily silent. They seemed like mere shadows as they progressed, one by one, to the mouth of the cave. There was not a sound. The snores of the sleeping gangsters were unbroken.
Frank waited at the entrance. Chet joined him in a few moments. Then came Biff, and finally Joe. Safely out of the cave, the boys halted for a second on the rocks.
“I’ll take the lead,” whispered Frank. “Join hands and follow me.”
It was pitch dark and the rocky path to the outskirts of the wood, he knew, would be treacherous. He reached back and grasped Chet’s hand. Then he moved forward, carefully testing every step. On him depended the success of their flight to the wood. One stumble, one dislodged rock, might ruin everything.
Step by step, he moved cautiously forward. He had a good idea of where the woods trail opened, and he made toward it. Once they reached the trail he felt sure they would be safe.
Frank had an idea. He stopped and turned to the others.
“If anything happens,” he said, in a low voice, “don’t stick together. Scatter and try to make for the boat. Even if only one of us makes it he’ll be able to get to the mainland.”
The others whispered assent. He turned and proceeded across the rocks.
This safeguard, he felt, was wise. In case the gangsters discovered their escape they would prevent a repetition of the previous occurrence. In the darkness it was entirely probable that at least one, if not more, would be able to evade recapture.
But as he went on, his hopes rose. There was still not a sound from the cave in the rock. The darkness was in heavy silence.
He could faintly discern the black mass of trees and bushes before him. If they could only reach the trail!
But when he eventually came to the undergrowth he found that he had somehow missed the path. The trees were densely massed before him. They would be certain to raise a commotion if they attempted to enter the thicket at that point, he knew. They would be certain of becoming lost as well. They must find the trail.
Every moment was precious. Frank moved to the left but the bushes were still dense in front of him.
Joe moved up beside him.
“I think the trail is farther over,” he said quietly.
Frank turned in the direction indicated.
They found the trail at last. Joe and Frank were ahead. Chet and Biff followed. Here they were unable to avoid making some sound. Twigs and branches crackled underfoot. This was unavoidable, but every noise seemed deafening.
Suddenly, from behind them, arose a terrific uproar.
Shouts, yells, the crash of a revolver, heavy footfalls, rent the silence into shreds. The sounds came from the cave.
“They’re gone!” roared a voice. “Wake up! They’re gone!”
The boys remained stock-still for a moment in the gloom of the trail.
“They’ll be after us,” said Frank quickly. “Take it easy. Make for the cove. I’ll take the lead. Make as little noise as you can.”
He started off at a trot, and the others followed. Behind them the uproar increased in volume. They could hear the gangsters shouting to one another; they could hear rocks clattering as their pursuers came running down from the cave.
Their erstwhile captors were rushing directly for the trail. They assumed that the boys would attempt to regain their boat as quickly as possible.
A voice was shouting:
“Head them off at the shore! Don’t let them get to their boat!”
The boys increased their speed. There was no attempt at concealment now. They could hear the branches crashing behind them as the gangsters hurried through the thicket.
In the pitch blackness of the grove they stumbled and fell, tripped and reeled as they rushed along.
Chet and Biff, being unused to the trail, were obliged to travel at a slower pace, and in this way they dropped behind. The Hardy boys did not notice. There was such a confusion
