"When you please."
"At once."
Red Cedar told the truth. He had really discovered a refuge, which offered a very desirable guarantee of security. Had we not ourselves witnessed a similar thing in the Far West, we should not put faith in the possibility of such a hiding place. After going about one hundred and fifty yards, the squatter stopped before an enormous oak that had died of old age, and whose interior was hollow.
"It is here," he said, cautiously parting the mass of leaves, branches, and creepers that completely concealed the cavity.
"Hum!" the monk said, as he peered down into the hole, which was dark as pitch; "Have we got to go down there?"
"Yes," Red Cedar replied; "but reassure yourself, it is not very deep."
In spite of this assurance the monk still hesitated.
"Take it or leave it," the squatter went on; "do you prefer being captured?"
"But we shall not be able to stir down there?"
"Look around you."