“Coming—but rip off this bandage first, and I’ll do the same for you. Then I can use my teeth on your wrist bonds—it’ll be easier and quicker that way.”
Bill heard Osceola slither across the floor and the bandage was ripped from his head. He in turn pulled off the young Seminole’s bandage and while his friend’s sharp teeth were working on the knotted ropes that bound his wrists, Bill sat up and took in their surroundings.
He saw that they were in a small room, empty of furniture. There were two windows in each of the four walls of the room. A door cut off one corner, and near it, Deborah lay on the floor, deep in her drugged sleep.
“I’ll bet we’re in the cupola,” said Bill, his eyes on the girl. “If I’m right, it’s a four-story drop to the ground, and that door looks too strong for us to bash in before the explosion.”
Osceola grunted, then spat copiously. Bill found that his wrists were free, and swinging round, he began to work on the rope which bound his friend.
“Ugh,” uttered the Seminole in disgust, “my mouth is full of hemp. I always did hate the taste of it.”
“Well, what I want to know is how we’re going to get out of here—and with Deborah?”
“I can’t tell you. Wait till we get our legs free. Maybe the outlook from the windows will give us an idea.”
“And maybe it won’t,” snorted Bill, working with feverish haste on the tight knots. “You know, I believe that old devil hoped we’d get loose.”
“How come?” Osceola, his hands free at last, was tearing at the rope around his ankles.