"Some Fragrant Ones have been working here, I should say." The speaker
patted the ground with quick palms, groping. "Phew! They've worked like
steam. This explains old Wutz, and his broken arrow. I say, Rudie, feel
about. I saw a coil of fuse lying somewhere.--At least, I thought it
was. Ah, never mind: have-got!" He pulled something along the floor.
"How's the old forearm I gave you? I forgot that. Equal to hauling a
sack out? Good! Catch hold, here."
Sweeping his hand in the darkness, he captured Rudolph's, and guided it
to where a powder-bag lay.
"Now, then, carry on," he commanded; and crawling into the tunnel,
flung back fragments of explanation as he tugged at his own load. "Carry
these out--far as we dare--touch 'em off, you see, and block the
passage. Far out as possible, though. We can use this hole afterward,
for listening in, if they try--"
He cut the sentence short. Their tunnel had begun to slope gently
downward, with niches gouged here and there for the passing of
burden-bearers. Rudolph, toiling after, suddenly found his head
entangled between his leader's boots.
"Quiet," he heard him whisper.
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