“A child could. Look.” He grasped a projecting handle near the bottom of the thorny mass. The lower half of the door swung up and outward, the upper half in and downward. “See; it’s balanced on a crossbar in the middle. Come on in.”
She walked after him in under the now horizontal door. He gave the inner end a light upward thrust, and the door swung back in its vertical circle until it again stood upright in the opening. From the inside the girl could see the strong framework to which was lashed the facing of thorns. It was made of bamboo and strong pieces of branches, bound together with tough creepers.
“Pretty good grating, eh?” remarked Blake. “When those green creepers dry, they’ll shrink and hold tight as iron clamps. Even now nothing short of a rhinoceros could walk through when the bars are fast. See here.”
He stepped up to the novel door, and slid several socketed crossbars until their outer ends were deep in the holes in the tree trunk, three on each side.
“How’s that for a set of bolts?” he demanded.
“Wonderful! Really, you are very, very clever! But why should you go to all this trouble, when the barricade–”
“Well, you see, it’s best to be on the safe side.”
“But it’s absurd for you to go to all this needless work. Not that I do not appreciate your kind thought for my safety. Yet look at your hands!”
Blake hastened to put his bleeding hands behind him.
“They are no sight for a lady!” he muttered apologetically.