“Their boat’s still here,” the deputy concluded, “an’ I’ve got the pants belongin’ to one of ’em. If they come back to-night to try an’ git away [[171]]with their boat, I’ll fix ’em, by gum! They can’t git away without me hearin’ ’em. The little scallawags!”
The attic room was cooler now. But I doubt if our misery was made any the lighter by the lessened heat. For we still had our empty stomachs and parched mouths to contend with.
It was our plan now to wait until the household was asleep and then tiptoe down the stairs to freedom. We would make some noise in our descent of the stairs, that was unavoidable, but it was our hope that whatever slight sounds we made would pass undetected in the others’ slumber.
In our nervous impatience to make our escape, it seemed to us that the lock tender and his guest never would go to bed. Our former jailer, playing the part of the host, brought out a checker board at the conclusion of his telephone conversation, and until upwards of ten-thirty the two men bent to their game, winning turn about.
Finally, though, to our tremendous relief, the lower doors were locked for the night and the Harmony Hustler mounted the stairs with a hand lamp. Upon his entrance into the bedroom he made a pretense of going to bed by dropping his removed shoes on the floor, after which, in continuation [[172]]of his trick, he moved here and there in the room in his stocking feet. The trick completed, he quickly dressed his feet and blew out the light.
Boy, I was scared! It was bad enough to be in the room with him when we could see him; it was a thousand times worse to be shut up with him in the dark.
Suppose he put a snaky hand under the bed and touched me! I shivered in the thought of it.
“Jerry!” Scoop breathed in my ear.
I jumped in my nervousness.
“Did he touch you?” I gurgled.