"There I waited," he said, "expecting first one head, then the other to come to light, but nothing happened. Seemed like I couldn't move. But Edgerton, he began rowing towards me with Annabel, she happy despite herself, and when I see it wouldn't do to tarry no longer, I cuts loose the old deaf boatman and unstops his mouth. Well, sir, he lets out a yell that would a-done credit to a bobcat fighting in the traps. I had to run for it fellows from the club-house took after me thinking I'd been murdering somebody—I skinned them Ozark hills and I skinned myself. But Brick, he says, 'When you turns loose a bobcat, expect scratches,' says he."
"Don't tell about how you hid in the hills waiting for a night train," Bill pleaded.
"I tells it all;" Brick was inflexible. "You are here, I'm here, and it's a safe place. We may never be so put again."
"A safe place!" Bill snarled. "Yes, it IS a safe place. But you've lost your nerve. WAS a time, when you'd have stood out creation in a hole like this. But you've turned to salt, you have a regular Bible character—giving up to the law, letting them clap you in jail, getting yourself hanged, very likely! And all because you've lost your nerve. See here, Brick, stand 'em out! I'll steady you through thick and thin. I'll bring you grub and water."
"YOU couldn't do nothing," Brick returned contemptuously, "you're too old. As for that, I ain't come to the pass of needing being waited on, I guess. It ain't dangers that subdues me, it's principles. Look here!"
He walked to the cross-bar that was set in the walls to guard the floor from the unknown abyss. "I found out they was a hole in the rock just about five feet under the floor. I can take this rope and tie one end to the post and let myself down to that little room where there's grub enough to last a long siege, where there's bedding and common luxuries, as tobacco and the like. I ain't been smoked out, into the open, I goes free and disposed and my hands held up according."
When he had finished the last morsel of his story and had warmed some of it over for another taste, there came an ominous silence, broken at last by the querulous voice of Bill, arguing against surrender.
Willock waited in patience till his friend had exhausted himself. "I ain't saying nothing," he explained to Wilfred, "because he ain't pervious to reason, and it does him good to get that out of his system."
"Let me make a suggestion," exclaimed Wilfred suddenly.
Willock looked at him suspiciously. "If it ain't counter to my plans—"