The General had been used to an easy life, these last few years, but it kept Poodle hurrying, crawling on his stomach up through the grass and shrubs, to keep ahead of him. Once, when their heads were near each other, he could make out that the General’s jaws were set like iron. They stole up to the cabin, and heard the five guards lazily talking near the door, in front. “Give me a leg up,” hissed the General, and climbed the low back wall, clutching at the thatch of the roof, and dragging himself up. He thrust down a hand to Poodle and pulled him after; then the two of them lay flat as shingles on the roof, for a guard was just meandering about the cabin, humming. The General was still panting from his exertions; and he whispered to Poodle, “Well, young man, what do you think of a man of my age and rank crawling up cabins that don’t even belong to me, as though I were a boy shinning up a tree for apples!” But he didn’t seem very angry, as he patted Poodle on the shoulder. With slightly raised head, Poodle leaned on his elbows, digging down into the rotten old thatch. He had to lift out all the straw, lest it fall through and give them away to any one beneath. But in a few moments he had a sizable hole, through which they could listen to anything that went on within the cabin. It was time they _were_ listening! Four of the five guards had entered the cabin. A stocky man addressed by the others as Bat was arguing with a sleezy fellow called Snafflin. “Aw thunder,” Bat was urging, “give the kid a little while longer, Snafflin, you whopperjawed jackass.” “Look here, you mutton-head” (Snafflin really called him something much worse, but what he said would better not be repeated here), “you know what the Boss said; ‘Give him till eight o’clock. Then if he won’t come around and write the letter, tie him up in the swamp.’ It’s way after eight now, and either you tie him up or— Well, there’ll be a new leader in this cute little band of cutthroats, savvy?” “Speak for yourself—about being a cutthroat, Snafflin. Me, there is one throat I hope to cut—yours. One of these days I’ll _get_ you, Snafflin, just remember that. Now—well, you guys are four to one. We’ll tie up the kid.” Then, speaking to Hike, Bat continued: “Kid, I’m sure sorry I’ve got to do this. Cummon now, won’t you sign the letter? Aw, cummon!” “Nope, Bat, I can’t do it. Sorry.” Poodle could just make out Hike’s tired smile as he said it, tied up, down there in the frowsy cabin. “So’m I sorry. Well, kid, here goes.” The door opened, and Poodle and the General could see the four men leading out Hike, while the fifth man, still on guard, brought up the rear, rifle on his arm. Hike, with his feet hobbled and his wrists tied tight, stumbled along weakly. Poodle whispered to the General, “I’ll sneak down and let him loose, and beat it back up here.” “Good. Go ahead.”