“And because you got it into your head,” says Catty, “and because we got it into our heads. Everybody goes crazy when you mention treasure. There ought to be a law against hidden treasure.... But then,” says he, “what would folks write books about if there weren’t treasure to dig for.”
“And here’s the wire,” says I, “four strands high, and my pants are caught in it.”
“Can you climb over, or will you crawl under?” says Catty to Mr. Dunn.
“Hanged if I know, but crawling sounds most attractive. I’m not built for much climbing.”
“Wait, I’ll hold the bottom wire up so you can wiggle under,” says Catty.
Then Mr. Dunn got down on his stomach in the sand and tried to wiggle under like a snake, but I guess millionaires are all out of practice as wigglers, because, if I’m any judge, in a wiggling race Mr. Dunn would come out about last. Then, too, even when he was on his stomach he was pretty high off the ground. The bottom wire wasn’t so high off the ground as it might be, and the barbs reached down and grabbed the back of Mr. Dunn’s coat, and there he stuck.
He couldn’t edge back, and he couldn’t push forward, and it began to look as if we had got to the end of our escape. Either we’d have to stay with Mr. Dunn and be recaptured, or we’d have to go off and leave him. I knew Catty never would do that, and I didn’t think highly of it myself.
“Next time you go trying to hog a treasure,” says I to Mr. Dunn, “you’d better leave out the barb wire.”
“You bet I will,” says he, “and furthermore, I’ll hire somebody to do it for me while I stay comfortably at home. I’m not built for adventure and excitement.”
“If we had a shovel,” says I, “we might dig a trench and roll him through.”