AN EFFORT TO ESCAPE
mercies of the mountain guerillas. Believing I had a force of men close at hand, these people would expect swift reparation for such an act, even the destruction of their home. Probably I should be held merely long enough for them to prepare better for a search of the house, and then set free with profuse apology. Satisfied in my own mind that this would be the outcome, I lit my pipe and settled back in the chair, endeavoring to become as comfortable as possible.
Yet as time passed—a long time it seemed to me in that black silence—restlessness and doubt overcame my earlier philosophy. I grew hungry, but there was no turning of the lock, no thrusting in of food through the partly opened door. My captors knew I was armed, and beyond doubt feared I would make a desperate break for liberty at the slightest opportunity. But how long was this to continue? Surely several hours had already passed, ample time in which to clear the premises of all incriminating evidence. The silence and darkness combined to irritate my nerves: to make moments appear endless. I began to have other suspicions, to lose my faith even in Jean Denslow. Black as was that interior I was still able to pace restlessly back and forth in the cleared space extending from wall to wall timing my steps until I knew exactly when to turn. Once I wheeled about a trifle to the right of the straight course, and a board rasped slightly beneath the weight of my foot. I stopped instantly at the sound, dropping upon my knees to feel with my fingers along the smooth surface. There was not much to encourage—a single strip of flooring, slightly warped at the
[ 131 ]
