try the roof.

We therefore knotted together the cord that had bound me and two sheets
from the bed, and sneaked cautiously out on the verandah, around the
corner to the water barrel, and so to the vantage point of the roof.

The chill of the night was come, and the stars hung cold in the sky. It
seemed that the air would snap and crackle were some little resolving
element to be dropped into its suspended hush. Not a sound was to be
heard except a slow drip of water from somewhere in the courtyard.

It was agreed that I, as the heaviest, should descend first. I landed
easily enough and steadied the rope for Miss Emory who came next. While
I was waiting I distinctly heard, from the direction of the willows, the
hooting of an owl. Furthermore, it was a great horned owl, and he seemed
to have a lot to say. You remember what I told you about setting your
mind so that only one sort of noise will arouse it, but that one
instantly? I knew perfectly well that Old Man Hooper's mind was set to
all these smaller harmless noises that most people never notice at all,
waking or sleeping--frogs, crickets, owls. And therefore I was convinced
that sooner or later that old man and his foolish ideas and his shotgun
would come projecting right across our well-planned getaway. Which was
just what happened, and almost at once. Probably that great horned owl
had been hooting for some time, but we had been too busy to notice. I
heard the wicket door turning on its hinges, and ventured a warning hiss
to Brower and Tim Westmore, who had not yet descended. An instant later
I could make out shadowy forms stealing toward the willows. Evidently
those who served Old Man Hooper were accustomed to broken rest.

We kept very quiet, straining our eyes at the willows. After an interval