military rifle. In appearance he might have been an American construction worker, but his guttural accent sounded Central European. Two hard-bitten mountain tribesmen were with him.
“Who are you?” Tom demanded boldly. “If you had anything to do with shooting down our plane, I warn you-”
“Shut up!” the man growled, then broke into a harsh, sneering laugh. “So you are warning me, eh? Ha-ha! A very good joke indeed!”
His laughter died away abruptly as he snapped out orders to the two tribesmen. In seconds the boys’ hands were tied behind them. Then they were marched along the valley at gun point, back toward the ack-ack placement.
At last their captor gave the order to halt. He jerked up his rifle and fired a shot into the air. In response, a clump of brush seemed to raise itself from the ground!
Tom and Bud gasped. The brush was used to hide a trap door in the ground.
From it led a flight of metal stairs.
“Down with you!” the rifleman said.
The boys descended cautiously. The steepness of the ladderlike stairway was unnerving, especially since their hands were tied.
About twenty feet below, the shaft opened into a lighted tunnel. The man with the rifle prodded Tom and Bud along with his gun. The tunnel was dirt-floored, its walls shored with moldy ancient
THE AMIR’S MINE 157
timbers. The timbering had been reinforced with new-looking metal beams.
Presently the tunnel ended in a door. Their captor gave a shout. Instantly the door swung open, as if at the press of a button.
“Ahl Welcome, my friends!” boomed a hearty voice.
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