“A fort, then—it might serve for a little time, but capture would be sure.”
“Nonsense, man! The roof—don’t you see it is almost as high as the wall.”
Then Robbins gave a cry of delight.
“Bully boy!—our chance at last! Now, only to get on the roof! Oh, for a ladder.”
“Let us look.”
The door of the long, little building was wide open, though, if my memory served me rightly, it had been closed when we passed before.
This mystery was quickly explained when my friend pointed to some blood spots upon the sill; the wounded gardener had sought refuge in the place, it being his first thought as a haven.
At our entrance the poor devil who had been trying to conceal himself behind a lot of pots and tubs, believing we had followed with the purpose of finishing him, began to pray about as vigorously as I ever heard any one.
One quick glance around failed to show me what I longed to see more than all else—a ladder.
There was a coil of stout rope hanging from a peg, and this I seized upon and tossed over to Robbins, who seemed disposed to let me run the whole business now, perhaps because it was I who had conceived the idea.