“But could he stand it all that time?” asked Giraffe dubiously.
“It may not have been the most comfortable thing going,” admitted Thad; “but a fellow can stand for a whole lot when he just has to.”
“You mean he’d do it, rather than risk coming out, and being gobbled up by the militia, is that it, Thad?”
“You’ve caught my idea, Giraffe.”
“But, Thad, just think how he must have suffered all the while we rocked in the cradle of the deep like we did?” ventured the other, shaking his head as though he could hardly bring himself to believe it possible.
“It would take a good deal of grit to hold out, for a fact, but then he might be so much afraid of arrest that of two evils he chose the lesser,” Thad continued.
“And what do you want me to do?” queried the tall scout.
“Just go to where we left the boat, and see if those cracks mean some sort of trap leading to the hold of the float. Be careful how you open it, because if the owner is hiding in there he may try to do something desperate. Perhaps you’d better take Step Hen along with you.”
“Guess not, unless you insist, Thad. I’ll carry a gun, and with that I’ll be equal to any refugee that ever walked on two legs.”
Giraffe liked nothing better than to be dispatched on a mission of this kind. He said nothing to any of the others, only picked up his gun, sang out to Bumpus not to let the fire die down for lack of fresh wood, and then walked away.