mine. Ho, ho, ho!”

Mulatto and light vanished, but enraged, baffled, helpless Captain Jack
could hear the two dogs moving about ere they settled down on the shelf of
flooring overhead.

“No matter how much of a liar that rascal is, he didn’t lie to me about
the dogs,” reflected Jack, his temper cooling, but his bitterness
increasing. “They’re fighting dogs, and one wrong move would bring them
bounding down here on me—the two together. Ugh-gh!”

After a few moments the mulatto reappeared with a light and tossed down
three heavy blankets.

“Now, Ah’s gwine leave yo’ fo’ de night,” clacked the late guide. “Ef yo’
done feel lonesome, yo’ jes’ whistle de dawgs down to yo’. Dey’ll come!”

While the light was still there Benson, in raging silence, gathered the
blankets and arranged them.

“Roll up one fo’ a pillow, under yo’ haid,” grinned the mulatto. “Dat’s
all right, sah. Now, good night, Marse Benson. Ef yo’ feel lonesome, Marse
Benson, jes’ whistle fo’ de dawgs. _Dey’ll come!_”

The light vanished while the mulatto’s sinister words were ringing in the
boy’s ears. Would the dogs jump down? Jack knew they would, at the first
false move or sound on his part. He huddled softly, stealthily, on the
blankets, there in the darkness.

As he lay there, thinking, Benson’s sense of admiration gradually got to