The hinges creaked under his weight. A current of air struck them in the face. Another instant and they stood in the corridor, listening, crushing back the breath in their lungs, not daring to speak. Only the drip of water came to their ears. Gently Neil drew his companion back into the cell. "There's a chance--one chance in ten thousand!" he whispered. "At the end of this corridor there is a door--the jailer's door. If that's not locked, we can make a run for it! I'd rather die fighting--than here!" He slipped out again, pressing Nathaniel back. "Wait for me!" Nathaniel heard him stealing slowly through the blackness. A minute later he returned. "Locked!" he exclaimed. In the opposite direction a ray of light caught Nathaniel's eye. "Where does that light come from?" he asked. "Through a hole about as big as your two hands. It was made for a stove pipe. If we were up there we could see into the jury room." They moved quietly down the corridor until they stood under the aperture, which was four or five feet above their heads. Through it they could hear the sound of voices but could not distinguish the words that were being spoken. "The jury," explained Neil. "They're in a devil of a hurry! I wonder why?" Nathaniel could feel his companion shrug himself in the darkness. "Lord--for my revolver!" he whispered excitedly. "One shot through that hole would be worth a thousand notes to the girls!" He caught Marion's brother by the arm as a voice louder than the others came to them. "Strang!" "Yes--the--king!" affirmed Neil laying an expostulating hand on him. "Hush!" "I would like to see--" Even in these last hours of failure and defeat the fire of adventure flamed up in Nathaniel's blood. He felt his nerves leaping again to action, his arms grew tense with new ambition--almost he forgot that death had him cornered and was already preparing to strike him down. Another thought replaced all fear of this. A few feet beyond that log wall were gathered the men whose bloodthirsty deeds had written for them one of the reddest pages in history--men who had burned their souls out in the destruction of human lives, whose passions and loves and hatreds carried with them life and death; men who had bathed themselves in blood and lived in blood until the people of the mainland called them "the leeches." "The Mormon jury!" Nathaniel spoke the words scarcely above his breath. "I'd like to take a look through that hole, Neil," he added. "Easy enough--if you keep quiet. Here!" He doubled himself against the wall. "Climb up on my shoulders."