“That will not be very soon, I fear,” sighed Dean dejectedly. “Oh, yes, it will!” replied Marcus with a strangely excited face. “If we only could!” “We can.” “But----” “Have you pluck?” “Lots of it.” “Endurance?” “Try me.” “Then we’ll escape!” “When?” “To-night!” CHAPTER XIX. DIGGING THEIR WAY OUT. Dean Mercer stared at his companion in startled wonderment. “To-night?” he repeated vaguely. “Escape from here to-night?” “Yes,” reaffirmed Marcus deliberately. “But the guard--the walls?” “I’ll attend to all that. I mean it, Dean! I’ve been planning at it a score of ways. To-day I made a great discovery. What you have told me decides me. My father needs my help. I’m going to escape to try and find the papers that will prove his innocence. Are you with me?” “Am I?” cried the excited Dean. “Oh! if we only could escape! Look here!” “No; look there!” Marcus had pointed to one corner of the tool shed. A large round wooden cover lay there. “What is it?” asked Dean curiously. “A well cover.” “And the well?” “Was dried up long ago. I peered in to-day. There’s the first move toward escape!” Dean Mercer was greatly excited as Marcus detailed his hopes and plans. The well, he said, was dry at the bottom, twenty feet down. What he proposed to do was to throw in two shovels, jump in themselves, and after pulling the cover back into place, dig. “Dig? Where to?” asked the dubious Dean. “To liberty.” “How?” “Straight under the wall of the yard. We are within ten feet of it. Then, once past it, we dig upward, burrow to the surface and run for it. Hist! Some one is coming!” A burly form blocked the entrance to the shed a minute later. It was the warden, and he glanced commendingly at the two busy boys. “Sort of damp and cold here, ain’t it, boys?” he asked. “We don’t feel it, sir,” replied Marcus. “Well, there’s a lot of new flower-seeds in the library to sort; so you can go there and finish the day at it.” Marcus looked disappointed, and Dean realized that their schemes were nipped in the bud, for that day at least. There was nothing left but to obey. They passed through the hospital ward, where the nurse was attending to one of the sick boy convicts, and put in the afternoon in grim silence at a table in the library, sorting out the new garden seeds. “Get all the bread you can,” whispered Marcus as they went for their supper and then to their cells. Then they were again at the ventilator, in low and cautious tones discussing the vital theme of the hour--escape. Marcus had a determination that even Dean could not equal. “Get more bread in the morning and stow it in your clothes,” said Marcus. “What for?” “We may need it.” “In the well?” “Yes.” “What’s your plan?” “We will probably be sent to the garden in the morning.” “I suppose so.” “The warden will not follow us to see if we go there. Then all depends on our reaching the tool house without the sentinel seeing us.” “What’s that for?”