"I'll tell it now," he cried, "and all the winds that ever blew sha'n't shout me down! Here's how it was." He faltered, and the professor prompted him.
"There's where you lay," he said, making a gesture to indicate the ranks of trembling men.
"There's where we lay," Budd echoed dully.
"And there was the door," said the professor softly. He pointed to a tree at the cañon's brink.
"Yes, yes!" cried Budd, "there was the door. The platform was outside, and there were two on guard. I was to spring out first—so," he jumped up—"and tackle the one farthest off. The Dutchman was to grab the other from behind. Mine was a stout young feller."
"A stout young fellow," repeated the professor.
"Yes," and the cook stood motionless as though some vision rose before him. "I can see him now, with straight back and crisp curly brown hair."
"A little curly," murmured the other.
"Percy, they called him," said Budd.
"Percy?" echoed the professor. "You are sure it was Percy?"