“We’re almost there,” said the boy; “it’s just that house where the aloe is—there on the top of that high wall.”
Barron looked in the direction, and saw high above them, on the top of a wall like the rampart of a fortress, the faint outline of a house and the black masses of trees etched against the only slightly paler sky.
“I don’t see any aloe,” he growled; “is that the house you mean?”
“That’s it,” said the boy. “I guess it’s too dark for the aloe to-night.”
With a scrambling and jolting the horses began what appeared an even steeper climb than that of the block before. The beasts seemed to dig their hoofs into the crevices between the cobbles and to clamber perilously up. With an oath Barron kicked open the door and sprang out.
“Come on, boy,” he shouted. “I can’t stand this snail of a carriage any longer.” And he set out running up the hill.
The boy, who was light of foot and young, kept up with him, but the two heavier men, who had followed, were left behind, puffing and blowing in the darkness.
Suddenly the great wall, at the base of which they ran, was crossed by a flight of stairs that made two oblique stripes across its face.
“Up the stairs,” said the boy.
And Barron, without reply, turned and began the ascent at the same breakneck speed.