“I’m sure of it. I saw it in his eyes when he lunged at me.”
“Dhen I am t’inking dot ve petter pe findting a vay to gidt oudt uff dhis blace.”
“If it could be done!” she said hopelessly.
“Aber I——”
But he stopped; for voices had reached them. They had been speaking in whispers, or little more; and the voices came merely as a low grumble, as if walls separated them from the speakers. When they kept silence and listened they could now and then make out words, that, apparently, were not meant for their ears.
“We’ll show Cody a thing or two,” was one thing they heard. “He has been thinking he is only up ag’inst a couple of men. He is now gettin’ his eyes open to the fact that he’s got a crowd to fight. But we can down him. A shot from the dark will put him out of business. As for this fool Dutchman, we’ll hold him a while, for we may want to use him; then he can go over the road.”
The grumble rose and fell, so that a good many things could not be made out; but something was said about the Fool of Folly Mountain.
Then some words came quite clearly.
“He’s in with us, all right;” this plainly referring to Uncle Sam. “Cody thinks he is standing in with him; and we’ll let him think it. By and by, if we don’t down him too soon with a bullet, Cody will learn the truth.”
Again the grumble died down.