Messmer was half dazed by the sudden turn of affairs, and before he could arise some of the roof beams began to settle across his back.
"Help! help!" he wailed. "The roof is coming down on me!"
His cry of assistance struck terror to the hearts of some of his friends, and for the moment they did not know what to do. Dave was the only one of the party who remained cool, and he rushed in and caught hold of one of the falling timbers.
"Prop them up!" he called. "Put your sticks under them—anything! If we don't, Messmer may be crushed to death!"
Roger came forward first and the others quickly followed, the mule being, for the time, forgotten. They took their heavy sticks and set them up under the falling timbers, and Henshaw rolled in a stone that chanced to be handy. These things kept the roof from coming down further, but poor Messmer was held as if in a vise and could not be extricated.
"We've got to pry the logs up a little," said Dave. "Here Is a log to work with," and he pointed to one which had fallen out of the side wall.
Only one torch remained lighted, and this had to be swung Into a livelier blaze, so that they could see. Then they had to start operations with care, for fear they might do more harm than good.
"If th—the logs co—come down on me they
