“Unless the sun shines at dawn to-morrow, we are dead men.”
“Then there is little chance of that, Baas,” groaned Otter, “for the night is as the nights have been for these five weeks. No wonder that this people are fierce and wicked who live in such a climate.”
Juanna hid her face in her hands for a while, then spoke:
“They did not say that any harm was to come to you, Leonard, or to Francisco, so perhaps you will escape.”
“I doubt it,” he answered; “besides, to be perfectly frank, if you are going to die, I would rather die with you.”
“Thank you, Leonard,” she said gently, “but that will not help either of us much, will it? What will they do with us? Throw us from the head of the statue?” and she shuddered.
“That seems to be their amiable intention, but at any rate we need none of us go through with it alive. How long does your medicine take to work, Juanna?”
“Half a minute at the outside, I fancy, and sometimes less. Are you sure that you will take none, Otter? Think; the other end is dreadful.”
“No, Shepherdess,” said the dwarf, who now in the presence of imminent danger was as he had been before he sought comfort in the beer-pot, brave, ready, and collected, “it is not my plan to suffer myself to be hurled into the pit. Nay, when the time comes I shall spring there of my own free will, and if I am not killed—and an otter knows how to leap into a pool—then if I cannot avoid him I will make a fight for it with that great dweller in the water. Yes, and I go to make ready that with which I will fight,” and he rose and departed to his sleeping-place.
Just then Francisco followed his example, seeking a quiet place in which to pursue his devotions, and thus Leonard and Juanna were left alone.