She was much too strong-minded and healthy to pray for death, but her
mind fairly reeled with the thoughts of the vengeance she would exact.
The third day found the gang morose and ugly. The confinement was as
irksome to them as it was to her. They fretted and worried, swore and
growled. At nightfall of each day Sam ventured forth through the passage
and out into the night. Each time he was gone for two or three hours,
and each succeeding return to the vile cave threw the gang into deeper
wrath. The word they were expecting was not forthcoming, the command
from the real master was not given. They played cards all day, and at
last began to drink more deeply than was wise. Two desperate fights
occurred between Davy and Sam on the third day. Bill and the old woman
pulled them apart after both had been battered savagely.
"She's sick, Sam," growled Bill, standing over the cowering, white-faced
prisoner near the close of the fourth day. Sam had been away nearly all
of the previous night, returning gloomily without news from
headquarters. "She'll die in this d---- place and so will we if we don't
get out soon. Look at her! Why, she's as white as a sheet. Let's give
her some fresh air, Sammy. It's safe. Take her up in the cabin for a
while. To-night we can take her outside the place. Good Lord, Sammy,
I've got a bit of heart! I can't see her die in this hole.
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