CHAPTER XXIV.
THE FIGHT
The talk sounded more plainly now—a confused murmur of voices—many of them—the sound coming under the slowly raising stone doorway.
"Who can it be—there's a lot of them," murmured Ned.
Tom did not answer. Instead he silently sped back to where they had slept and got his automatic revolver.
"Better get yours," he said to his companions. "It may be a rescue party, though I don't see how any one could know we were in here, or it may be"
He did not finish. They all knew what he meant, and a moment later four strained and anxious figures stood on the inner side of the stone door, revolvers in hand, awaiting what might be revealed to them. Would it be friend or foe?
At Tom's feet lay the golden head—the hollow
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