e to them as it was to her. They fretted and worried, swore and
growled. At nightfall of each day Sam ventured forth through the passage
and out into the night. Each time he was gone for two or three hours,
and each succeeding return to the vile cave threw the gang into deeper
wrath. The word they were expecting was not forthcoming, the command
from the real master was not given. They played cards all day, and at
last began to drink more deeply than was wise. Two desperate fights
occurred between Davy and Sam on the third day. Bill and the old woman
pulled them apart after both had been battered savagely.

"She's sick, Sam," growled Bill, standing over the cowering, white-faced
prisoner near the close of the fourth day. Sam had been away nearly all
of the previous night, returning gloomily without news from
headquarters. "She'll die in this d---- place and so will we if we don't
get out soon. Look at her! Why, she's as white as a sheet. Let's give
her some fresh air, Sammy. It's safe. Take her up in the cabin for a
while. To-night we can take her outside the place. Good Lord, Sammy,
I've got a bit of heart! I can't see her die in this hole. Look at her!
Can't you see she's nearly done for?"

After considerable argument, pro and con, it was decided that it would
be safe and certainly wise to let the girl breathe the fresh air once in
a while. That morning Sam took her into the cabin through the passage.
The half hour in the cold, fresh air revived her, strengthened her
perceptibly. Her spirits took an upward bound. She began to ask
questions, and for some reason he began to take notice of them. It may
have been the irksomeness of the situation, his own longing to be away,
his anger toward the person who had failed to keep the promise made
before the abduction, that led him to talk quite freely.

CHAPTER XX

In the Cave

"It's not my fault that we're still here," he growled in answer to her
pathetic appeal. "I've heard you prayin' for Daddy Crow to come and take
you away. Well, it's lucky for him that he don't know where you are.
We'd make mincemeat of that old jay in three minutes. Don't do any more
prayin'. Prayers are like dreams--you have 'em at night and wonder why
the next day. Now, look 'ere, Miss Gray, we didn't do this rotten job
for the love of excitement. We're just as anxious to get out of it as
you are."

"I only ask why I am held here and what is to become of me?" said
Rosalie resignedly. She