Cold steel is by no
means the favorite weapon of an American, but there are times--
"Have you got your knife, Harry?"
"Yes."
"Good! Now listen close and act quick. When I give the word
reach down and grasp the cords round your ankles in your left
hand, then cut them through with one stroke. Then to your feet;
grasp my jacket, and together to the wall--that's for our backs.
And then--let 'em come!"
"All right, old man."
"Don't waste any time; they'll probably start for us the instant
we sit up. Be sure you get your feet free at the first stroke;
feel them well with your left hand first. Are you ready?"
"Yes." And his voice was now calm and perfectly steady.
"Then--one, two, three--go!"
We bent and cut and sprang to our feet, and dashed for the wall.
There was a sound of rushing feet--our backs hugged the kindly
rock--I heard Harry's shout, "Here they come!"--dim, rushing
forms--fingers clutching at my throat.
I felt the blade of my knife sink into soft and yielding flesh,
and a warm, thick liquid flow over my hand and arm.
Chapter VIII.
THE DANCE OF THE SUN.
It seemed to me then in the minutes that followed that there were
thousands of black demons in that black hole.
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