CHAPTER XVII
UNCLE ABNER’S STORY
Full of curious admiration for the keen-eyed old man who had thus exposed us so cleverly and unexpectedly, Poppy and I filed sheepishly into the cave.
About fourteen feet in depth, the roomy chamber was furnished with a rustic table, over which hung a lantern, two chairs, and, on opposite sides, well back, two floor beds, the mattresses of which had been made of plaited grass. There was a stand, too, supporting a huge Bible, such as preachers use, and on a lower shelf of the stand was the talking machine that we had heard. Later we learned that the kid had made the furniture with a hatchet and scout knife, which shows you what a clever little woodsman he is.
The talk between the boy and his uncle had made it plain to us that much less than being in cahoots with the cat killer they really knew nothing about the other man, except that the boy had “seen something” at the mouth of the tunnel. This made the cat killer more of a mystery to us than ever. And there was added mystery, too, in these other people. But who could be afraid of an old man, however stern he tried to be, whose chief interest seemed to be in Bibles and Sunday-school lessons! Certainly, Poppy and I weren’t afraid. Our principal feeling, as I say, was curiosity.
The old man continued to glare at us.
“What’s your name?” he demanded of the leader, in a gruff voice.
“Poppy Ott.”
The questioner then turned as savagely to me.
“Jerry Todd,” says I.
The scowl deepened.