A good deal puzzled, Tim Benson crept to the edge of the hole and looked out. After staring hard he failed to locate the umbrella.
“I don’t see anything,” he called back in a whisper.
“Mebby she’s circlin’!”
“She?”
“I see that yuh don’t know much about ther Betts brothers. Jim, he’s a tall, ganglin’ feller; while his brother is little; that’s Bill. And Bill he does the female lay.”
“I see. One of my little tricks—plays woman.”
“Where they ain’t known they purtend ter be husband and wife, and air gin’rally quarrelin’ about all ther time, jest to fool folks. The woman—I’ve kinder got inter ther habit o’ callin’ Bill a woman!—don’t carry any weepins that anybody knows of, but she is allers packin’ about with her a big gray umbreller. It’s her rifle; an air gun, that shoots wicked, yit don’t make a sound that you can hear ten yards off. She whanged at me jest now with her air gun. Which shows that she seen me. And o’ course she’s crawlin’ up. Ain’t thar no way o’ gittin’ out o’ this infernal hole without rushin’ out thar?”
“I don’t see her, or the umbrella,” Benson declared.
Gorilla Jake ventured to creep out at Benson’s side. As soon as he could see across the rocks he dropped down, dragging at the sleeve of his companion.
“Thar! Thar!” he said, shivering. “Don’t yer see it?”