cautiously peeping out. Presently he said:

“Who could have brought those tools here? Do you reckon they can be upstairs?”

The boys’ breath forsook them. Injun Joe put his hand on his knife, halted a moment, undecided, and then turned toward the stairway.

The boys thought of the closet, but their strength was gone. The steps came creaking up the stairs — the intolerable distress of the situation woke the stricken resolution of the lads — they were about to spring for the closet, when there was a crash of rotten timbers and Injun Joe landed on the ground amid the debris of the ruined stairway. He gathered himself up cursing, and his comrade said:

“Now what’s the use of all that? If it’s