and opened. In the way of both enterprises writhed a half
dozen or more deadly snakes. And to the problem of winning
past them alive and getting to his enemy. Gavin Brice bent
his trained faculties.

The box whereon he sat was covered with loose boards nailed
down only at one end, a long strip of thin iron or copper
binding the one unopened edge. So much his groping fingers
told him. Moving to one corner of the box top he pushed aside
a board and plunged his hand into the interior. It was as he
had hoped. According to custom when the box had been emptied
the jute and shredded paper stuffing of its contents had been
thrust back into it for future use.

Feverishly, Gavin began to pull forth great handfuls of paper
and of excelsior. These he piled onto the box top. Then,
exerting all his skilled strength, he tugged at the narrow
iron strip which bound, lengthwise, one side of the box.

This task was by no means easy, for the nails were long. And
the iron's sharp edges cut cruelly into the tugging fingers.
But, inch by inch, he tore it free. And at the end of three
minutes he was strengthening and testing a willowy five-foot
strip of metal. Laying this across his knees and fishing up
another double handful of the packing paper and jute he groped
in his pockets with bleeding fingertips for a match.

He found but one. Holding it tenderly he scraped its surface
against his nail--a trick he had picked up in the army. The
sulphur snapped and ignited, the wooden sliver burning freely