“Wait a sec—I’m coming out.”
They saw the Chief’s tall form loom up beside them, although his approach had been made without a sound.
“What’s going on, anyway?” Sanborn’s nerves were badly shaken and his relief on seeing Osceola free and sound in body sharpened his tone.
“Yes, what’re you tryin’ to do—scalp the man?” added Bill.
Osceola chuckled. “My gosh, did you think that yell came from me? Why, no, Bill, I’m trying something a little harder than that. I was just about to learn something of interest to all of us, when you butted in.”
“But what on earth were you doing to the man?” asked Sanborn.
“Oh, the old match trick. But what have you chaps been doing to yourselves? You look like a pair of nigger roustabouts!”
“Roosting in a chimney—a nice sooty one, too.” Bill turned to the detective. “Those keen eyes of his have found us out. And the match trick, I believe, consists of placing a lighted match between the victim’s toes.”
“But we can’t have that—it’s torture!” exploded Sanborn heatedly.
Bill laughed.