“Opened the skin. Thought the cuss had give up, an' got careless. What's 'round to the west?”
Keith's lips closed, his hand shutting hard on the knife.
“Five, and another out in front; that leaves the eighth man inside. Bring our fellows up closer, and post them where they can cover those fellows asleep, while I make an effort at breaking in here.”
Bristoe crawled back like a snail, and confident the others would do their part, Keith thrust his knife blade deep into the narrow crack, and began probing after the latch. In spite of all caution this effort caused a slight noise, and suddenly he started back, at the sound of a woman's voice:
“What do you want? I am armed, and will fire through the door if you do not go away!”
His heart leaping with exultation, Keith put his lips close to the crack.
“Hope,” he exclaimed as loudly as he dared. “This is Keith; open the door.”
He could hear a little smothered cry break from her lips, and then the sound of a bar being hastily removed. An instant, and the door opened silently, just wide enough to permit her slender figure to slip through. She grasped him with her hands, turning his face to the light of the stars, and he could feel her form tremble.
“Oh, I knew you would come! I knew you would come!” she sobbed, the words barely audible.
The man's lips set firmly, yet he held her close to him, begging her not to break down now.