“They’re pretty shrewd citizens, I reckon,” muttered Chick, as he surveyed his prison. “But they seem to have slipped a cog this time when they left me here without any guard or ropes about me. I’ll take the liberty of opening one of those shutters and going out when the time comes.” Chick did not try to do it at once. It was still daylight, and he knew he would have small chance of escape, even if he got out of the building, unless he had some means of leaving the meadows. “As soon as I am outside, they’ll see me, of course,” was his reflection. “They could bring me down with a bullet, or they could drop a big stone or chunk of iron on my head, and I’d be all in. I’ll have to wait till dark. The only thing against it is that they’ll probably have some scheme cooked up before that to put me out.” Chick rubbed his chin musingly. He had had experience enough with the seamy side of humanity to be aware that rascals of the type of Solado and Miguel were not likely to leave a prisoner loosely guarded unless they contemplated a coup to his disadvantage when he should attempt to escape. It was at this stage of his reflections that he caught the muffled sound of voices. They seemed to come from a corner of his cellar that was a little darker than any other part--if that could be possible. He stepped softly to the corner and listened. At the same time he detected a dull light close to the wall, which he found came from a place where the stone partition had slightly crumbled away. The irregular opening thus made was too close to the other wall for him to look through, but it permitted the sound of voices to reach him. He heard only a few words, but they were illuminating. So Chick pressed his face to the wall, as near as he could get to the hole, to hear more. All he got as a reward was the sound of a door closing with a bang. The words that had come to him were in the tones of Miguel, and they were uttered with a savage vindictiveness that made Chick wish he could have been in the adjoining cellar to ram them down the speaker’s throat. “You’ll stay here till you give in--or rot!” was what Miguel told the prisoner, whoever he might be. When the door slammed there was silence, and then it came to Chick that possibly the prisoner might be none other than his beloved chief. There was no sound reason why it should be Nick Carter who had just been threatened. On the other hand, it might be he, for, if it was considered worth while to take Chick prisoner, was it not probable that Nick had been taken at the same time? “I’ll have to take a chance,” muttered Chick. “I must find out who is in that other room.” He squeezed his head into the angle of the wall, in the vain endeavor to bring his eyes level with the opening. Then, in strained accents, he called out: “Who is in that cellar?” “Hello!” was the response. “Who is that?” Chick’s sense of hearing was keen, and at once he knew it was Marcos answering him.