“If you don’t want me I’ll git out,” I told him.
He grinned again. “I dunno’s I’d go as far’s kickin’ you out. If you’re g-goin’ to stay let’s git inside the cave.”
We went inside and fixed ourselves as comfortable as we could at the far end, in a sort of recess we’d dug out to put things in, with a piece of canvas hanging down over it, and all the talking we did was in whispers. Somehow we didn’t either of us think of many things to say. I remember after about half an hour of it that I wished if any wild man was coming he’d hurry and have it over with, because my legs were getting cramped. But he didn’t come.
Through the mouth of the cave we could hear Plunk and Binney raising a racket that sounded as if all the kids in Wicksville were mixed up in one big fight.
“They’re doin’ fine,” whispers Mark.
“Yes,” I says, “and I bet they’re enjoyin’ it more’n I am this.”
It began to look as if Mark’s scheme wasn’t any good, for we sat there more than two hours, and I was sure my legs would snap off if I moved, they were so stiff.
“Come on,” I whispered, “let’s get out of this. Nobody’s comin’.”
“Hus-ss-ssh!”
I listened. Sure enough, there was something moving around outside, slow and cautious. We could hear twigs crackling, and once in a while a sort of scuffling like feet moving through dried grass. Mark’s eyes were fastened on the opening through a slit in the canvas, and they were pretty nearly as big as saucers. When you think how small his eyes usually were you can guess how excited he was now. Probably I looked about the same; I know my heart hammered, and I got that empty feeling like I had in the night, and I wished I was seven miles away with a company of soldiers. But I wasn’t any place but right there, and I had to make the best of it.