Would the dogs jump down? Jack knew they would, at the first
false move or sound on his part. He huddled softly, stealthily, on the
blankets, there in the darkness.
As he lay there, thinking, Benson's sense of admiration gradually got to
the surface.
"Well, of all the slick man-traps!" he gasped. "I never heard of anything
more clever. Nor was there ever a bigger idiot than I, to walk stupidly
into this same trap! What's the game, I wonder? Robbery, it must be. And I
have a watch, some other little valuables and nearly a hundred and fifty
dollars in money on me. Oh, I'm the sleek, fat goose for plucking!"
Lying there, in enforced stillness, Jack Benson, after an hour or so,
actually fell asleep. A good, healthy sleeper at all times, he slumbered
on through the night. Once he awoke, just a trifle chilled. He heard one
of the dogs snoring overhead. Crawling under one of the blankets, Benson
went to sleep again.
"Hey, yo', Marse Benson. It am mawnin'. Time yo' was wakin' up an' movin'
erlong!"
It was the voice of the same mulatto, calling down into the pit. Again the
rays of the lantern illumined the darkness. Both bull-dogs displayed their
ferocious muzzles over the edge of the pit.
Pages:
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88