"But I don't know--after all, there is a chance. Just a bare
chance, isn't there?"
"You know as well as I do, Harry. The chances are a million to
one that Desiree--thank Heaven--has escaped all this! And isn't
that best! Would you have her here with us?"
"No--no. Only--"
"Lying here, bound hand and foot? She would make a dainty morsel
for our friends."
"For the Lord's sake, Paul--"
"Well, let us forget her--for the present. Nor do we want to
make a dainty morsel if we can help it. Come, brace up, Hal. It's
up to us to turn a trick."
"Well?"
"I don't know why I didn't think of it before. I guess we were
both too dazed to have good sense. What have you got strapped to
your belt?"
"A gun," said Harry. "Of course I thought of that. But what
good is it after that ducking? And I have only six cartridges."
"Nothing else?"
I could almost feel his silent gaze; then suddenly he cried out:
"A knife!"
"At last!" said I sarcastically. "And so have I. A six-inch,
double-edged knife, sharp as a razor and pointed like a needle.
They didn't have sense enough to search us, and we didn't have
sense enough to realize it.
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