the last room in the left wing. I am watched, so cannot write more.

The handwriting of the two documents was the same. I stared at one paper
and then at the other, and for a half hour I thought all the thoughts
appropriate to the occasion. They led me nowhere, and would not interest
you.




CHAPTER IV


After a time I went to bed, but not to sleep. I placed my gun under my
pillow, locked and bolted the door, and arranged a string cunningly
across the open window so that an intruder--unless he had extraordinary
luck--could not have failed to kick up a devil of a clatter. I was
young, bold, without nerves; so that I think I can truthfully say I was
not in the least frightened. But I cannot deny I was nervous--or rather
the whole situation was on my nerves. I lay on my back staring straight
at the ceiling. I caught myself gripping the sheets and listening. Only
there was nothing to listen to. The night was absolutely still. There
were no frogs, no owls, no crickets even. The firm old adobe walls gave
off no creak nor snap of timbers. The world was muffled--I almost said
smothered. The psychological effect was that of blank darkness, the
black darkness of far underground, although the moon was sailing the
heavens.

How long that lasted I could not tell you. But at last the silence was
broken by the cheerful chirp of a frog. Never was sound more grateful to