When he had the knife fastened he laid the whole thing down on the floor. It looked like a spear. From one end to the other it was about twenty feet long, and I’ll bet any savage would have been glad to get hold of it, for it would have been a weapon like he never imagined.
“Goin’ to spear ’em?” Tallow asked.
“Nope,” says Mark; “this is to k-k-kill mosquitoes.”
We knew it wasn’t any use to bother him any more. He’d tell us about it when he was ready, and not a minnit before. It didn’t matter how mad we got. When he took it into his head the time to tell had come he’d tell, and horses couldn’t drag it out of him before.
“I don’t see any sense to it,” I told him, because I thought possibly I could make him mad and so get him to tell, but it didn’t work.
“You ain’t expected to,” was all he said.
We lighted the lamp and read some more Kidnapped. Mosquitoes were buzzing around, and a couple of times I felt like telling Mark it was time to begin on them with his spear, but I didn’t. Sometimes it’s safer not to make remarks to him. He’s fat and he stutters, but that doesn’t keep him from thinking as quickly as anybody else. The fellow that goes monkeying with Mark Tidd is apt to get a little better than he gives.
Once or twice Mark got up to look out of the window at the camp of the enemy. “The f-f-fat chief is on guard,” he says. “I can’t see the thin one. Maybe he’s layin’ in a-a-ambush in case we t-t-try to make a rush.”
Another time he reported: “They’ve g-got a smudge to keep off mosquitoes. Bet they’re bitin’ out there.”
“Wonder if they’ll keep guard all night?” asked Tallow.