Prisoners of Chance

The sectary made hard efforts to glance behind, but the cords held too firmly, so I merely gained a glimpse of the side of his face.

"Merciful Jehovah! 'tis the voice of Master Benteen," he exclaimed joyfully. "I know not how you could come there unless you descended from the sky."

"From the opposite quarter, my friend," I replied, awake to the humor. "Pray speak with less noise, and pay heed to what I say. Tell me where the priest stands; you are so confounded broad of shoulder I can see nothing beyond."

"He kneels to the right of the altar, the crawling spawn of hell, where he has good chance to fill his lean body with food he makes pretence to feed unto that foul figure of wood. He is a full imp of Satan, the black-faced idolater."

"I care little as to that. Are there others present?"

"None, save the guard, a naked savage. He leans in the doorway, looking without."

"Then be quiet while I cut your bonds; afterwards move back toward me. But mark well you tread lightly along the floor, with no sound to attract attention."

He chuckled grimly.

"Fathers of Israel! it will astound those fellows to discover this place empty--'t is likely they will imagine me gone back to the Sun."

Making no response to this natural conceit, I stretched myself forward the full length of my body, quickly drew the keen knife edge across his bonds, severing them with one stroke, thus setting free his arms. As the sundered cords dropped noiselessly to the floor I drew back into hiding, leaving him to rid himself of whatever might remain. A moment later he joined me, silently as a great shadow, and I cordially extended my hand to him.