Craig wrote the note and handed it up to Baker. Pole read it slowly, and then said: “You mought 'a' axed 'er to excuse bad writin' an' spellin', an' hopin' these few lines will find you enjoyin' the same blessin' s; but ef it gits the boodle that's all I want. Now you keep yore shirt on, an' don't git skeerd o' the darkness. It will be as black as pitch, an' you kin heer yore eyelids creak after I shet the front door, but I 'll be back—ef I find yore old lady hain't run off with a handsomer man an' tuck the swag with 'er. I'm glad you cautioned 'er agin axin' me questions.”
Pole backed to the foot of the ladder, followed by Craig.
“Don't leave me here, Baker,” he said, imploringly. “Don't, for God's sake! I swear I 'll go with you and get you the money.”
“I can't do that, Mr. Craig; but I 'll be back as shore as fate, ef I get that cash,” promised Pole. “It all depends on that. I 'll keep my word, if you do yore'n.”
“I am going to trust you,” said the old man, with the pleading intonation of a cowed and frightened child.
After he had gotten out, Pole thrust his head into the opening again. “It 'll be like you to come up heer an' try to move this rock,” he called out, “but you mought as well not try it, fer I'm goin' to add about a dump-cart load o' rocks to it to keep the wolves from diggin' you out.”