He listened closely. They did not seem to come from above. He was unable to distinguish what was being said, but was very sure that it was a number of people talking.
Cautiously he moved along away from the ladder. It seemed to be a sort of cave, rather than a prospect hole. He bumped into a projection and almost fell. Around this projection and about thirty feet away he could see the faint glow of a light. It was from the room above the trap door, but Sleepy had no way of knowing this.
He moved slowly toward this faint illumination and tripped over some object, sprawling on his hands and knees. He swore softly, as his sore hands and knees came in contact with the ground.
“Sleepy!” a voice whispered.
Sleepy sat up, rubbing his knees.
“Is that you, Hashknife?” he asked softly.
He did not seem to be surprised.
“Yeah, it’s me. Got a knife?”
“I s’pose so. Got yuh tied up, pardner?”
Sleepy took out his pocketknife and in a few moments Hashknife was free. His hands were swollen from the tight ropes, and his arms seemed little better than clubs, but he knew they would soon be all right again.