"There's only one fireplace where the flue's big enough and that's in the sitting room. But you couldn't get up it without being seen from the yard. And for the same reason you couldn't get into the oven. Oh—what can you—wait. I have it. You can get down into the little brick room where mother smokes the hams! Quick! It's 'round by the back stairs."
Familiar with the chambers, about four feet by six, built in the chimneys where the countryfolk used to cure their delicious hams, the bandit-chieftain rejoined:
"That'll be just the place. Get us to it as soon as you can. Any hams in it now?"
"Drat it, yes! I'd forgotten. Mother put some in yesterday." And the girl stopped, looking at the outlaws in dismay.
"Never mind. They'll help to hide us," assured Jesse.
"But the smoke and the odour, it's fearful," protested Marjorie.
Quickly the great desperado allayed her misgivings by telling her that they could stand them and without further parley, she guided them to the eighteen-inch door in the side of the stairway that opened into the smoking-chamber.
As she drew it back, the pungent fumes of the curing hams rushed out, mingled with smoke.
"Jicky, but it is strong," gasped Clell.
"We've got to stand it, so crawl inside, lively," snapped his leader. "The longer you stand here with that door open, the more the odour'll get into the house, and the greater chance there'll be of the man-hunters getting wise."