“Nonsense,” said I. “In broad daylight, at the Palace Hotel? I'm much more likely to be killed before I get home to-night.” Her earnestness impressed me, but my resolution was not shaken. Mother Borton rested her head on the table in despair at my obstinacy. “Well, if you will, you will,” she said at last; “and an old woman's warnings are nothing to you. But if you will put your head in the traps, I'll do my best to make it safe after you git it there. You jist sit still, honey.” And she took the candle and went to a corner where she seated herself at a stand. Her shadow grew very large, and her straggling locks sent streamers of blackness dancing on the grimy ceiling. The weird figure, thrown into bold relief by the candle-lighted wall beyond it while all else was in obscurity, gave an uncanny feeling that turned half to dread as I looked upon her. What secret did she hold? What was the danger she feared? Mother Borton appeared to have some difficulty in arranging her words to her liking. She seemed to be writing, but the pen did not flow smoothly. At last she was done, and, sealing her work in an envelope, she brought the flickering light once more to the table. “Take that,” she said, thrusting the envelope into my hand. “If you find a one-eyed man when you git into trouble, give him that letter I've writ ye, and it may do ye some good. It's the best I can do fer ye. You'd better go now and git some sleep. You may need it.” I thanked Mother Borton and pressed her hand, and she held the candle as I tiptoed down the stairs, joined my waiting guards, and went out into the night. The fresh, cool air of the early morning hours was grateful after the close and tainted atmosphere of the den we had left, but I had other things to think of than the pleasure of once more filling my lungs. “Where are Barkhouse and Phillips?” I asked, as we turned our faces toward the west. Porter gave a low whistle, and, as this failed to bring an answer, followed it with one louder and more prolonged. We listened, but no response came. “We'd better get out of here,” said Wilson. “There's no telling what may happen when they hear that whistle.” “Hist! What's that?” said Porter, drawing me back into a doorway. There were running steps on the block above us, and I thought a shadow darted from one side of the street to the other. “There seem to be friends waiting for us,” said I. “Just get a good grip of your clubs, boys, and keep your revolvers handy in case they think they have a call to stop us.” “Hold on,” said Porter. “There's a gang of 'em there. I see a dozen of 'em, and if we're the ones they're after we had better cut for it.” “I believe you are right,” said I, peering into the darkness. I could see a confused mass, but whether of men or boxes I could only guess. “We'll go up here, and you can cut around the other way,” said Porter. “There's no need for you to risk it.” “There's no need for any one to risk it. We'll cut together.”