They were speaking in whispers, for the sentry outside the gate was only a yard or so from their door.
“Well, we’ve been in worse fixes. This will take some thinking out,” answered Bill.
“Worse fixes?” Osceola’s shoulders moved impatiently. “I doubt it.” He sat down on the edge of a bunk. “Just because these bozos have been more or less polite, don’t get the idea they aren’t dangerous customers. That Baron means to put our lights out. You got him worried when you sprung that Maine story on him, and I purposely got him just as angry as I could.”
“What was your big idea?”
“Why, I figured that when he thought it over later, it would lead him to believe we really did have something up our sleeves—some certain means of rescue or escape. A big bully like he is would reason that we’d never have the nerve to bait him otherwise.”
“You think it may help to postpone the—er—evil day?”
“I am hoping so. If I size that guy up right, he’ll make watchful waiting his cue for a few days anyway. He’ll want to see if anything really happens before he puts his own head into a noose.”
“And when nothing happens, we’ll be put on the spot for that same reason!”
“Tomorrow’s always another day, Bill. Say, you’re not up to your usual form this morning. I’ll bet you got no sleep last night. You’d better turn in now and take a siesta.”
“I’ll do that soon, Osceola. But I’m interested in our fellow prisoners. You know, we’re lucky—our one consolation is that there wasn’t room in this dump to separate us.”