Toss me some cartridges first. I only got five. I left in a hurry. You
got forty-fives?"

"Plenty. But you can't stay there. They'll pot you from the top of the
bluff, first off. Besides, you got a canteen, I see. You back up to
that mountain mahogany bush, slip under it, and worm down through
the rocks till you come to a little scrub-oak tree and a big granite
bowlder. They'll give you shelter to cross the ridge into a deep
ravine that leads here where I am. You'll be out of sight all the way
up once you hit the ravine. I'd--I'd worm along pretty spry if I was
you, going down as far as the scrub oak--say, about as swift as
a rattlesnake strikes--and pray any little prayers you happen to
remember. And say, Pringle, before you go ... I'm rather obliged to
you for coming up here; risking taking cold and all. If it'll cheer
you up any I'll undertake that anyone getting you on the trip will
think there's one gosh-awful echo here."

"S'long!" said Pringle.

He wriggled backward and disappeared.

Ten minutes later he writhed under the bush at Foy's feet.

"Never saw me!" he said. "But I'll always sleep in coils after
this--always supposing we got any after this coming to us."

"One more crawl," said Foy, leading the way. "We'll go up on top.
Regular fort up there. If we've got to die we'll die in the sun."

He stooped at what seemed the end of the passage and crawled out of