“’Ceptin’ frough de trap-door,” ventured the servant.
“That is over your room, but the scuttle is fastened as securely as the one below stairs.”
“Dunno ’bout dat; I’s gwine to see,” was the sturdy response of Dinah, as she walked rather heavily into her own boudoir; “any man dat comes foolin’ ’round dar is gwine to get hisself in trouble.”
Knowing precisely where the opening was located (an unusual feature of the houses in that section), she stopped directly under it, and reached upward with one of her powerful hands. The roof was still nearer the floor than was the latter to the floor below, so that it was easy for her to place her fingers against the iron hook which held it in place.
Of course she found the scuttle just as it had been for many a day; and Mrs. Shirril was right in saying it was as firmly secured as the ponderous door beneath them, for the 46 impossibility of getting a purchase from the roof, made only a slight resistance necessary from beneath. A dozen bolts and bars could not have rendered it stronger.
“It ’pears to be all right,” mused Dinah, “but folks can’t be too keerful at sich times––sh! what dat?”
Her ears, which were as keen as those of her friends, heard a suspicious noise overhead. It was faint, but unmistakable. The startling truth could not be doubted: one of the Comanches, if not more, was on the roof!
“If dat isn’t shameful,” she muttered, failing to apprise her mistress of the alarming discovery; “I wander what he can be after up dar––de Lor’ a massy!”
The last shock was caused by a scratching which showed that the intruder was trying to lift up the scuttle.
Evidently the Indians had made themselves as familiar with Captain Shirril’s domicile as they could without entering it. They had noticed the scuttle, and the possibility that it might be unfastened led one of them to climb undetected to the roof to make sure about it.