“I guess I’d take it as a personal favour if you’d speak English, William,” drawled a voice. Seymour burst out into a roar of laughter.
“Sorry I took you for an enemy, Silas,” he replied. “We’ve got Wilson all safe and sound.”
“That’s good,” the Yankee chirped; “but who’s the party Chenobi’s totin’ along?”
“The priest,” answered the baronet.
“Whew!” whistled the Yankee; “I guess you’ve been making things hum considerable below there.”
“We have roused ’em slightly,” was the modest reply; “but we’ll have to hustle, as you call it, Silas. I shan’t feel safe till I set foot inside the city again. The beasts won’t give up their old priest without an effort to release him, I’ll warrant.”
“You bet,” agreed the American, then lapsed into silence until the end of the tunnel was reached.
Here Mervyn awaited them, eager for news as to the manner in which they had effected Wilson’s rescue. But Seymour cut short his questions.
“Ask what you like, old man, when we get back to the city,” he said, “but for the present we must devote our attention to getting clear away. The elk and hounds should be somewhere about. Seen anything of them?”
“Not a sign,” replied Mervyn; “they must have strayed.”