"I am willing to do whatever you think best."
"Then go, and tell whoever you meet, of the pickle I am in. I'll stay because I'll most likely make a better fist at fighting than you."
"Do you want the cartridges?"
"Yes, and the gun."
Fred placed the weapon against the wall near his companion, and turned to go.
"Don't light your lamp until you are so far away that the flame can't be seen, for it won't do to let them know we have divided forces."
A silent handshake and Sam was alone.
"It's goin' to be a tough job, an' most likely I'll get the worst of it," he said to himself, as he leaned toward the aperture in a listening attitude.
Five minutes passed, and then came a shower of missiles, causing a choking dust to arise; but doing no further injury. Immediately afterward the boy fancied another attempt was being made to crawl through, and he discharged both weapons in rapid succession.
"Now we've got him!" a voice shouted, and before Sam could reload the guns two or three men were in the chamber.