“I agree with you.” Osceola, usually stoical under trying conditions, was visibly upset. “While we’re scrapping and swapping stories, that girl of mine is being kidnapped by those ruffians!”
“But they haven’t got into the house yet,” Bill reminded him.
“But what can those two do against so many! After what Sanders said to you, we should have been prepared for this. For the love of Mike, Bill, hold that light steady! I can’t find the brick that manipulates the panel to the woodshed tunnel.—There—that’s better!”
A section of the cellar wall opened and the light from the torch shone on a flight of stone steps leading into the earth.
“Wait a jiffy, till I pick up my rifle—” The young Seminole disappeared, then returned with the gun in his hands. “Lucky I decided to tackle you with my fists rather than shoot in the dark! Got everything you need?”
“Yep.”
“Then turn the light on the wall to your left—third brick from the bottom—there!”
He pulled it out, fumbled in the aperture for a moment and the cellar door slid shut.
“Gosh, it’s dark—” Bill went down the steps and along the tunnel, sending the light beam before him. “How did you manage to navigate without a flash?”
“My race, as you know, see better in the dark than you pale-faces. But it wasn’t easy, just the same. Some of the roof is down farther ahead, and I barked my shin on one of the stone blocks. Rotten air in here too. Mr. Evans said that Turner was quite a guy at smuggling in his day. He told me that the house is a regular warren of secret passages. What time is it, anyway?”