Kitabı oku: «The Boy Scouts' Mountain Camp», sayfa 6
CHAPTER XIV
A THRILLING ESCAPE
It was Peter Bumpus and Jim Dale who were talking. From their first words Rob gathered that Stonington Hunt and his son had gone fishing, and that Jumbo, like himself, was asleep.
“You’re sure that kid is off good and sound, too?” asked Dale.
“Soon find out,” rejoined Bumpus.
Rob felt the man bend over him, his hot breath fanning his ear. It was a hard job not to open his eyes, but Rob came through with flying colors.
“He’s sound as a top,” decided Pete, “and old Hunt and the kid won’t be back for half an hour anyway. Now’s our time to see if the old rope ladder is still there.”
“It sure did us a good turn the night the revenues came,” said Jim Dale.
“Let’s see, it was over this way, wasn’t it? Right under that big hemlock on the top of the cliff?”
“That’s right.”
Rob heard them cross the sandy strip of beach. Luckily, he was lying with his face toward that side, and by half-opening his eyes could observe their movements without danger of being discovered.
They approached a clump of bushes and fumbled about in it for a brief time. Peter did most of the searching, for that was what it seemed to be, while Dale stood over him.
“Well?” demanded Dale at length, “is it there?”
“Is what there?” wondered Rob.
“It’s here, all right,” responded Peter Bumpus and in triumph he held up something which only by great straining of his eyes Rob was able to recognize as a strand of wire. It was so slender that if his attention had not been drawn to it he would never have seen it.
“I’d like to give it a yank and bring the rope ladder down,” said Dale.
“I wouldn’t mind a run in the old woods myself,” said Peter. He seemed half inclined to pull the wire, which Rob judged, though he could not distinguish it against the dull background of rock, must lead to the cliff summit. On that cliff summit the boy also assumed, from what he had heard, there must lie a rope ladder. The mystery of the escape of the rascals from the revenue officers was solved. They had mounted by the rope ladder on the first alarm and pulled it up after them. Rob could hardly help admiring the strategy that had conceived such a scheme.
Suddenly, while Peter Bumpus still hesitated, there came the sharp “splash” of a paddle.
“Here comes the boss,” warned Dale.
Instantly the two men strolled aimlessly across the beach, as if their minds were vacant and idle. Evidently then, Hunt was not aware of the existence of the rope ladder, and the two men had some strong object in wishing to hide it from him.
The two Hunts brought back several fish, perch and pickerel, which were cooked for supper. After that meal the men sat about and talked a while, and then preparations were made for bed. Jumbo was tied hand and foot, much as Rob was. But not content with these precautions, Dale was stationed to watch the captives. From what Rob could hear he was to be relieved by Bumpus at midnight.
That Dale took his duty seriously was evident by the fact that, beside him, as he crouched by the fire, he laid out a ready cocked rifle, and kept one eye always upon the two prisoners. To amuse himself during his vigil he drew out a big case knife and began whittling a bit of driftwood into the likeness of a ship – a reminder of his old seafaring days. Rob, watching the ruffian at this innocent employment while the firelight played on his rough features, caught himself wondering what sort of childhood such a man could have had, and how he came to drift into his evil courses.
“I’ll bet that the Boy Scout movement in big cities is keeping hundreds of lads out of mischief,” he thought, “and helping to make good men out of them. After all, or so dad says, most bad boys are only bad because they have no outlet but mischief for their high spirits.”
After a while, Dale finished his carving. Then he darted a cautious look about him.
“Wonder if any of that old moonshine is still in the hiding place?” he muttered.
For a while he remained still. Then he once more cast a scrutinizing look around him. Rob interpreted this as a meaning that Dale was anxious to see if everything was quiet. The boy lay still and silent and Dale evidently assumed he was asleep. After a careful inspection of the spot where the others slumbered, the fellow cautiously made for the base of the cliff near the clump of bushes where he and Bumpus had investigated the wire that afternoon. Reaching toward a stone he pulled it aside, and thrust his arm into a recess which was suddenly revealed. When he drew his hand out it clasped a demijohn. The recess was the hiding place formerly used by the moonshiners to conceal their product.
With a swift glance about, to make sure he was not observed, Dale raised the demijohn to his lips. It stayed there a long time. He set it down and looked about him furtively once more. Then he raised the jug again and took another long swig of the poisonous stuff. Rob, through lowered lids, watched him with a shudder of disgust.
When Dale finally thrust back the jug into its hiding place and returned to the firelight, his step was unsteady and his eyes had a strange, glassy light in them. He sank down on the log which served him as a seat, and once more drew out his knife. His intention, apparently, was to resume his whittling. But after a few unsteady strokes at the bit of wood he had selected, he gave over the attempt.
His head lolled limply forward and the corners of his mouth drooped. One by one his fingers relaxed their grip on the knife, and, resting his head on his hands, he allowed himself to sink into oblivion.
Instantly the Boy Scout’s faculties were alert and at work. The firelight played temptingly on the knife the liquor-stupefied man had dropped. Very cautiously the fettered Rob rolled over upon his stomach and, slowly as a creeping snail, began a tedious progress toward the weapon. How he blessed the days he had spent practicing such stealthy means of advance. It was the old scouting crawl of the Indians he used. A means of approach as silent as that of a marauding weasel.
It was ticklish, scalp-tightening work, though. But Rob did not dare to hurry it. The rattle of a misplaced stone, the snap of a twig, might spoil all. To add to the peril at any moment, either the drowsy man by the fire, or one of the sleeping men beyond, might awaken.
But at last, without a single accident, Rob reached the proximity of the precious knife. It was a heavy weapon and lay on the rock-strewn ground with its blade upward. The boy noted this with a quick gulp of thankfulness. For, fettered as he was, he could not have manipulated it till he got his hands free.
With infinite caution he rolled his body so that his wrists were close to the keen blade. Then he began sawing at the ropes, rubbing them back and forth against the blade. At length one of the strands parted. Then another was severed, and, with a strong jerk, Rob tore loose the rest. Then, cautiously picking up the knife in his freed hand, he slashed his leg-bonds. In less time than it takes to tell it he was free.
His next task was to liberate Jumbo. And then —
Rob had allowed his thoughts to dwell on the daring possibility of recovering the canoes and paddling away with them. But on second thoughts he deemed this too risky. Instead he determined to trust to the rope ladder. It had flashed across his mind in this connection, that the strands of the ladder might be too weak to support his weight, or the much greater avoirdupois of Jumbo. But the lad felt that they must risk it.
Jumbo very nearly ruined everything. For, as Rob bent over him, he awakened with a start.
“Oh, fo’ de lan’s sake, massa, don’ you go to confustigate dis yar – ”
But in a flash Rob had clapped his hand over the garrulous black’s capacious mouth. Jumbo’s first fear that his last hour had come was speedily relieved as he saw who it was.
Rob, after a quick look about, assured himself that Jumbo’s words had not aroused any of the sleepers. Then, taking his hand from the negro’s lips, he quickly slashed his bonds. In another instant Jumbo, too, was at liberty.
“Wha’ you go fo’ ter do now, Marse Blake?” he whispered.
“Hush! Not a word. Follow me,” breathed the boy.
“Dis suttingly am a pawtuckitus state of affairs,” muttered the black, “don’ see no mo’ how we can git out uv this lilly place dan er fly kin git out of a mo’lasses bar’l.”
However, he followed Rob, who, on tip-toe, approached the clump of bushes where he knew the wire he had observed that afternoon lay hidden. With beating pulses he poked about in the scrub-growth till, suddenly, his fingers encountered the filament of metal. The most dangerous step of their enterprise still lay before him. What would happen when he pulled it? Would the ladder come down with a crash that would awaken their foes, or —
Rob lost no time in further indulging his nervous thoughts, however. He gave the wire a good hard tug. Simultaneously, from out of the blackness above them, something came snaking down. Rob dodged to avoid it.
He could have cried aloud with joy as, in the faint glow cast by the fire, he saw that, right in front of him were the lower rungs of a rope ladder. It was padded at the bottom so that its descent, abrupt as it had been, was almost noiseless. Rob noted, too, with inward satisfaction, that the ropes seemed strong and in good condition.
“Up with you, Jumbo,” he ordered in a tense, low whisper.
The black turned almost gray with apprehension.
“Ah got ter clim’ dat lilly ladder lak Massa Jacob in de Bibul?” he whimpered.
“You certainly have, or – ”
Rob made an eloquent gesture toward the camp of Hunt and his gang. The hint conveyed proved effectual.
“Mah goodness, dis am suffin’ dis coon nebber thought he hab to do,” muttered Jumbo, “but all things comes to him who waits – so heah goes!”
He set his foot on the ladder and, rapidly ascending it, soon disappeared in the darkness above. As soon as the slackness of the appliance showed Rob that the negro was at the cliff summit, the boy prepared to follow him.
But as he set his foot on the lower rung the man by the fire awakened with a start. Before Rob, climbing like a squirrel, could mount three more steps he became aware that his prisoners were missing.
Snatching up his rifle he ran straight toward the rope ladder. The next instant Rob, with a hasty glance backward, saw that the weapon was aimed straight at him. His blood chilled as he recollected having heard Dale that afternoon boasting of his ability as “a dead shot.”
CHAPTER XV
OUT OF THE FRYING PAN
For only an instant did Rob remain motionless. Then, as if by instinct, he suddenly crouched. It was well he did so. A bullet sang above his head as he clung, swinging on his frail support, and flattened itself with an angry “ping!” against the rock wall above him.
The report brought the rest of the sleeping camp to its feet. In an instant voices rang out and hastily lighted lanterns flashed. Rob, taking advantage of even such a brief diversion, sprang upward. But with a roar of fury, Dale sprang to the foot of the ladder. Desperation gave Rob nimble feet. He literally leaped upward.
In his mind there was a dreadful fear. The ladder was hardly strong enough to bear two. By placing his weight on the lower part of it, it was Dale’s intention to bring him down to the ground. That in such an event he could escape with his life, seemed highly improbable.
But fast as he went, he felt the ladder quiver as Dale’s hold was laid upon it from below. At this critical instant a sudden diversion occurred. From right above Rob’s head, or so it seemed, a voice roared out through the night.
“Tak’ yo’ dirty paws off’n dat ladder, white man, or, by de powers, it’s de las’ time you use ’em!”
It was Jumbo’s voice. But Dale answered with a roar of defiance. He shook the ladder violently. Rob felt himself dashed with sickening force against the cliff-face. But all at once there was a warning shout. Something roared past his ears, just missing him.
“Haids below!” sung out Jumbo as he watched the huge rock he had dislodged go crashing downward.
It missed Dale by the fraction of an inch. But his narrow escape unnerved the fellow for an instant. In that molecule of time Rob gained the summit of the ladder, and Jumbo’s strong arms drew him up to safety beside him.
“Well done, Jumbo,” he exclaimed.
“Oh, dat wasn’ nuffin’,” modestly declared Jumbo, “if dat no-account trash hadn’t uv leggo I’d have flattened him out flatter’n dan a hoe cake. Yas, sah.”
“I guess you would, Jumbo. But there’s no time to lose. Come, we must be getting on.”
“One ting we do firs’ off wid alacrimoniousness, Marse Blake,” said Jumbo.
“What’s that?”
“Jes’ len’ me dat lilly knife you take frum dat pestiferous pussonage below an’ I shows yoh right quick.”
Rob had thrust the knife into his scout belt. He now withdrew it and handed it to the negro. With two swift slashes, Jumbo severed the top strands of the ladder. A crash and outcry from below followed. Rob, peeping over, saw that Dale, who had just begun to mount after them, was the victim. He was rolling over and over, entangled in the strands of the ladder, while Stonington Hunt stood over him in a perfect frenzy of rage.
“Now den, Marse Blake, ah reckin’ we done cook de goose of dem criminoligous folks,” snorted Jumbo as he gazed. “He! he! he! dey is sure having a mos’ fustilaginal time down dere.”
“I guess they’ll have plenty to think over for a time,” said Rob, rather grimly; “come, let’s set out. Have you any idea in which direction the camp lies?”
“No, sah. But I raickon if we des foiler de lake we kain’t go fur wrong.”
“We must go toward the south, then. See, there’s the Scout’s star, the north one. The outer stars in the bucket of the dipper point to it.”
“Wish ah had a dippah full ob watah. I’m po’ful thirsty,” grunted Jumbo.
“We’ll run across a stream before very long, no doubt,” said Rob.
With these words the lad struck off through the forest of juniper and hemlocks. The moon had not yet risen, and it was dark and mysterious under the heavy boughs. Jumbo held back a minute.
“Come on. What’s the matter, Jumbo?” exclaimed Rob.
“It look powerful spooky in dar, Marse Blake.”
“Well, I guess the spooks, if there are any, will do us less harm than that gang behind us,” commented Rob.
Jumbo, without more words, followed him. But he rolled his eyes from side to side in evident alarm at every step. On and on they plunged, making their way swiftly enough over the forest floor. From time to time they stopped to listen. But there was no sound of pursuit. In fact, Rob did not expect any. With the ladder destroyed, there was not much chance of the Hunt crowd clambering over the cliff tops.
At such moments as they paused, Rob felt, to the full, the deep impressiveness of the forest at night. Above them the sombre spires of the hemlocks showed steeple-like against the dark sky. The night wind sent deep pulsations through them, like the rumbling of the lower notes of a church organ. All about lay the deeper shadows of the recesses of the woods. They were shrouded in a rampart of impenetrable darkness.
“I hope we’re keeping on the right track,” thought Rob, as it grew increasingly difficult, and finally impossible, to see the north star through the thick mass of foliage above them.
The boy knew the danger of wandering in circles in the untracked waste of forest unless they kept constantly in one direction. Without the stars to guide him, it grew increasingly difficult to be sure they were doing this.
“Golly! Ah suttinly hopes we gits out of dis foliaginous place befo’ long,” breathed Jumbo stentorously, stumbling along behind Rob over the rough and stony ground that composed the floor of the Adirondack forest.
All at once, as Rob strode along, he stopped short. Some peculiar instinct had caused him to halt. Just why he knew not. But he was brought up dead in his tracks.
“Wha’s de mattah, Marse Blake?” quavered Jumbo, “yo’ all hain’t seein’ any hants or conjo’s, be yoh?”
Rob replied with another question.
“Got a match, Jumbo?” he asked.
“Yas sah, Marse Blake, I done got plenty ob dem lilly lucilfers.”
He dived in his pocket and produced a handful of matches, which he handed to Rob. The boy struck one, and, as the yellow flame glared up, he uttered a little cry and stepped back with a perceptible shrinking movement.
No wonder he did so. At the young Scout’s feet the flare of the match had revealed a yawning abyss. One more step and he would have been over it. Gazing into the ravine he could hear the subdued roar of a stream somewhere far, far below. A cold blast seemed to strike upward against his face.
“Gracious, what a narrow escape!” he exclaimed. Then, stirring a small stone with his foot he dislodged it and sent it bounding over the edge. Bump! bump! tinkle! tinkle! plop! plop! – and then – silence.
“Golly, goodness, dat hole mus’ be as deep as de bad place itself!” exclaimed Jumbo, shrinking back in affright, “dat hole mus’ go clean frough de middle of de world an’ come out de odder side in China.”
“It certainly does seem as if it might,” agreed Rob; “at any rate, if we’d gone over it we’d have had no time to investigate – ugh!”
Rob gave a shudder he could not subdue as he thought of their narrow escape.
The only thing to be done under the circumstances, was to turn aside and keep on slowly, awaiting the daylight to see where they were, and the nature of their surroundings. They had progressed in this fashion perhaps half a mile or so, when Jumbo gave a sudden cry:
“Look, Marse Blake! Wha’ dat froo de trees dere? Look uncommon lak a light.”
“It is a light. Although I don’t know what any habitation can be doing in this part of the world,” answered Rob.
“Maybe even ef it’s only er camp we kin git suffin’ ter eat dar,” suggested Jumbo hopefully, “ah’m jes’ nacherally full ob nuttin’ but emptiness.”
“You’d never make a Scout, Jumbo.”
“Don’ belibe I wants ter be no Skrout nohow,” retorted Jumbo, “dar’s too much peregrinaciusness about it ter suit me.”
Rob did not reply. But a moment later he cautioned Jumbo to progress as cautiously as possible. The boy could see now that the light proceeded from the open doorway of a hut. Within the rude structure he could make out a masculine figure in rough hunting garb bending over a stove at one end of the primitive place.
All of a sudden Rob’s foot encountered something. He tripped and fell, sprawling on his face. At the same instant the sharp report of a gun rang out close at hand.
The wire over which the boy had tripped, and which was stretched across the pathway, had discharged the alarm signal. As the echoes went roaring and flapping through the forest, the man who had been bending over the stove, straightened as if a steel spring had suddenly sprung erect.
He was a small, dwarfish-looking fellow, with a clay-colored skin, beady, black eyes, shifty as a wild beast’s. The animal-like impression of his face was heightened by a shaggy beard of black that fell in unkempt fashion almost to his waist. He wore blue jean trousers, moccasins and a thick blue flannel shirt.
With a swift, panther-like movement, he snatched up a rifle that stood in one corner of the hut. His next move was to extinguish the light with a sharp puff. Then, with every sense wire-strung, he stood listening.
CHAPTER XVI
INTO THE FIRE!
The moon had just risen. Her light silvered the dark hemlock tops, and, by bad luck, fell in a flood full upon Rob and Jumbo. The man who had sprung into such sudden activity was, on the contrary, completely shrouded in the black shadow of the hut.
Even had they had weapons they would, situated as they were, have been completely in his power. To use a slang term, but one full of expressiveness, he had “the drop” on them.
“Who are you?” rasped out the inmate of the hut in a harsh, startled voice. “Speak quick, for I’m right smart on the trigger.”
“We are two wanderers who have lost our way,” rejoined Rob, “we have no weapons and have no wish to harm you.”
“Come forward a bit while I look you over,” said the man, his suspicion mollified a bit by the boyish tone. But the next instant, as his eyes fell on Rob’s uniform, he seemed to bristle with suspicion again.
“What’s that uniform?” he demanded; “be you some new-fangled revenue?”
“I’m a Boy Scout,” rejoined Rob, and then, thinking it best not to relate his whole story at once, he added, “I got lost on a scouting expedition. Our camp is not far from here on the other side of the lake. All we want is some food, drink and shelter.”
“Boy Scout, eh?” said the man, eyeing him curiously, “um, ay, I’ve read of ’em. To my mind you’d be best at home instead of gallivanting around the country and getting lost. But who’s that black fellow?”
“Ah’se a ’spectable colored gen’ulman, suh,” began Jumbo indignantly in his usual formula. But the black-bearded man checked him with a gesture.
“You’re just a nigger, nigger, don’t forget that. I come from south of the Mason and Dixon line.”
“Yas, sah, yas, sah,” grinned Jumbo. The big black shivered and showed all the gleaming white of his teeth and eyes in his alarm at the bearded little man’s fierce looks and gestures.
“S’pose I feed yer,” was the bearded one’s next question, “kin you pay? I’m a poor woodsman and – ”
“Oh, we can pay,” Rob assured him. Foolishly he drew out a rather well-filled purse. The next moment he wished he hadn’t. For a brief instant the hut-dweller’s keen, serpent-like black eyes had kindled with an avaricious flame.
But he cleverly masked whatever emotion it was that had swept over him at sight of the money receptacle.
“Guess that’ll be all right,” he said, “come on in.”
Rather troubled in his mind, but deciding that it was best to accept the situation as it unfolded, Rob followed his conductor into the hut. Jumbo ambled along behind, his black face expanded in a grin of wonderment. The hut, within, proved to be a roughly constructed affair of raw logs. The chinks were plastered with clay, mixed with grass to give it consistency. A few skins hung on the walls and some rough, home-made furniture stood about.
At one end of the place was a huge, open fireplace, with a big hearthstone. It was not used, however, the cookery being done upon the stove, which also provided the heat.
At the end of the hut opposite to the chimney a rough flight of steps led to an attic. After the two half-famished wanderers had concluded a hearty meal, washed down by strong, hot, black coffee, their host motioned to the steps.
“Ef you want a shake-down you’ll find straw up thar,” he said.
Rob thanked him civilly and he and Jumbo climbed the stairway and found themselves in a low-ceiled loft. The floor was of unnailed boards. Through the chinks between them the ruddy lamplight below could be seen.
“Dere’s wusser beds in dis wale ob tears dan nice clean straw,” observed Jumbo philosophically as he threw himself on his heap. Rob agreed with him. The straw did, indeed, seem soft and grateful after their recent hard knocks and experiences. Following Jumbo’s example, the lad made for himself a kind of nest. Curling up in it he was soon off in the deep, dreamless slumber of healthy boyhood.
Voices awakened Rob. He sat up sharply. They were coming from below. The sounds of the conversation floated up through the wide chinks in the rough floor.
Rob rolled on his side and peered through the most convenient crack. Three men were now in the room below him. As he gazed he was amazed to see the hearthstone swing bodily backward, on some concealed hinges, and a fourth man emerge from some secret passage.
“Wall,” said the newcomer, a huge figure of a man with a big, blond viking-like beard, “the last keg is headed and fixed up. We’ve finished our work. To-morrow – ”
But the black-bearded man checked him with a sharp gesture.
“Shut up, Sims,” he warned, “not so loud. Go ahead, Watkins,” he went on, turning to one of the men with whom he had been talking.
“What I ses is,” resumed this fellow, a squatty-built, loosely-hung little fellow, with close-cropped sandy hair, and a bristly growth on his chin, like the stubble on an old tooth brush, “what I ses is, don’t take no risks.”
He paused impressively and then added in a lowered voice, but one that reached Rob, nevertheless, with thrilling clearness:
“Fix ’em.”
“Great Abraham Lincoln!” gasped the boy, “this is a nice nest of hornets we’ve stumbled into. ‘Fix ’em,’ that must mean us.”
But the talk went on, and Rob strained his ears for the continuation.
“But if they was guvn’ment men they wouldn’t hev walked in like they done, I reckon,” put in another man, a pallid, sickly-looking chap, with pink-rimmed eyes and a ferrety, furtive manner.
“Best be on the safe side,” counselled the black-bearded man, who had introduced the travelers to the hut, “they’ve got money, too.”
“Money?” questioned the blonde-bearded man.
“Yes. The boy has. And they haven’t got any weapons. I guess we’ll have an easy time of it with them.”
“That nigger looks pretty hefty, and the kid’s no weakling.”
It was the pink-eyed man who spoke. Rob felt a shiver run through him. So they had been observed while they were asleep and never knew it!
“Oh, I’m a fine Scout!” thought the lad bitterly.
“Seems kind of tough on the kid,” said the blonde-bearded man, “but you never did have no sense of pity, Black Bart.”
Black Bart! Rob’s heart stood still and then beat furiously. These men then, were the moonshiners of whom Dale had spoken that afternoon. It seemed, too, from their talk, that they suspected him and Jumbo of being government spies. In that case they would stop at nothing. And they were four to one. The Boy Scout felt for the knife he had filched from Dale, but in their passage through the woods it must have been lost, for he could not find it on him.
“Kid or no kid,” retorted Black Bart, viciously, “he can tell the revenues a story jes’ as well as anybody else, can’t he?”
“That’s so,” agreed the red-headed man, “and if they get us this time they’ll make it hot for us.”
This argument seemed to extinguish all regrets in the blond-bearded man’s mind.
“When air you goin’ ter do it?” he asked. His voice was perfectly matter-of-fact and cold-blooded.
“No time like the present. But it’s best to get ’em asleep. We don’t want no noise,” said Black Bart, with deliberation. “Pinky,” to the pink-eyed man, “jes’ take a look upstairs and see if they are asleep.”
Rob laid down and crouched still as a mouse while he heard Pinky ascend the creaking stairs, satisfy himself that the intended victims were asleep, and retreat again.
Then the boy awakened Jumbo. In a few words he apprised him of the situation. To Rob’s great relief, the negro, in this dire emergency, seemed to be as self-possessed as he was cowardly in minor matters. Many natures are so constituted.
“What we gwine ter do, Marse Rob?” he breathed, crawling noiselessly about on his straw.
“There’s a window over there,” whispered Rob; “we’ll have to drop through it and chance coming out safely.”
“Lawsy sakes! S’posin’ it looks out on one ob dem bottomless pitses lak yo’ all near fell inter ter-night?”
“Can’t be helped, it’s the only way we can escape. Hark! They’re coming now. Get over to the window with as little noise as you can.”
“How ’bout you alls?”
“I’ll follow. You get it open first.”
Without another word the negro noiselessly wriggled across the floor to the window – a mere opening in the wall – that Rob had observed. At the same instant there came the “creak! creak!” of the staircase as one of the men below began to ascend the stairway.
There was a big bit of loose timber lying near Rob’s straw. With a sudden flash of anger at the thought of the men’s treachery, the lad snatched it up.
“They shan’t get off scot free, anyhow,” he decided within himself.
With the bulk of timber clutched in both his hands, ready poised for a blow, Rob waited by the opening at the head of the rickety stairway as the midnight assailant ascended.
