out of the house at the back. Roy went to the window and after much grunting, managed to open the lower sash. Chub joined him.
“We can’t get out here, that’s certain,” he said. “It’s thirty feet to the ground if it’s an inch. Look at the old fool!”
Mr. Ewing was in plain sight in front of the barn. He had run a rickety side-bar buggy out of the carriage shed, and now he entered the barn again.
“He’s going to town for a constable,” mused Roy. “I wonder how far it is.”
“He said he wouldn’t be more than an hour.”
“Then we’ve got an hour to find a way out of here.” Roy turned and looked frowningly about the room. It was some twelve by fifteen feet in size, with one door into the hall, and one window. The walls were kalsomined a streaky white. The furnishings consisted of a bed and a mattress, a yellow bureau, a chair, and a wash-stand with bowl and pitcher and a square of rag carpet.
“If we only had some bedclothes,” muttered Roy.
“Or a ladder,” added Chub with a grin. “I guess we’re here to stay unless—”
