“You bet,” says he.
“Wisht I had that gift,” says I, for just then I banged my shin against a timber and it hurt like all-git-out.
We knew that mill pretty well by heart, and found our way around without falling down any holes or sitting down on any saws. Pretty soon I heard a soft, stealthy kind of a noise right over in front of me, and I grabbed Mark’s arm. Mark heard it, too, because he reached out and touched me, as much as to tell me to keep still. Then we went ahead. Pretty soon I reached for Mark and I couldn’t touch him. I couldn’t hear him. Well, if you think that wasn’t a lonesome feeling I’ll eat a brick.
But I was in for it, and I wasn’t going to turn tail and scoot if that mill was so crowded with magicians that they was stepping on one another’s toes, so I went ahead a step at a time, stopping to listen about every minute.
Then I felt that something was close to me. Now if you’ve never been in the dark and had that feeling, why, you don’t know what it is to be scairt. I knew something was there and that it was alive, and I wondered if whatever it was knew that I was there and if it was getting ready to pounce on me. I hardly breathed. Then I heard just the barest scrape. It was moving, and it wasn’t more than five foot away. I didn’t move. It come closer and closer and closer. Well, sir, I had about all I could stand. Then something brushed right against my arm and I grabbed.
I had to grab. That was all there was to it. Whatever it was grabbed back. It was somebody alive; anyhow it felt alive, especially when it swatted me right in the stummick. That made me mad and I kind of forgot about being scairt and started in to git even. I didn’t even think of hollering for help to Mark Tidd.
The other fellow didn’t make a sound, and I didn’t. We went down on the floor and rolled over and over, each trying mighty hard to git the other, and both doing a pretty good job. I know I was being all mussed up and I’ll bet the other fellow wasn’t happy. Not if many of the licks I aimed at him landed.
Then I got him down and plumped onto him hard. He was panting, but when he see he was licked he sort of wheezed:
“Tallow—help.”
Well, I wanted to slam him in the nose. “Binney Jenks,” says I, “what in tunket d’you mean? Why didn’t you say who you was?”