Tom peered out from under the cot, and made up his mind, if worst came to worst, that he would roll out, and grab up the heavy stove poker he saw.
"That will make a pretty good club," he reasoned. "Hang it all! why didn't I tell the fellows? If this Mendez does me up he may hide my body here, and the fellows will never know what became of me. I ought to have told them—and yet I did it this way to keep Ruth's secret. I meant it for the best."
Again Tom listened. The fumbling at the lock of the door continued.
"If that's Mendez he doesn't seem to know how to open his own door," mused Tom. "Maybe he's got the wrong key."
This seemed to be so, for there was a jingling as of several keys, and then a voice was heard to mutter. Tom started in his hiding place under the cot.
"That's not the voice of Mendez!" he exclaimed. "What am I up against?"
A wild idea came to him.
"Maybe some of our fellows got wise to the same thing I did, and they're trying to get in here," he thought. "If they see me there'll be a surprise," and he smiled grimly.
The unknown person outside the shack seemed to be trying a number of keys, one after the other,
