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Updated: May 22, 2025
Between the sobs, punctuating them fiercely, sounded the prolonged sucking-in of breath. "Might as well stop y' bawlin' an' squallin'," he called through the latch-hole. "Time's up!" Getting no reply, as before, he altered his tactics. First, shading his face with his slim fingers, he looked in. He could not see the girls. Dallas was close to the door and beyond the limit of his vision.
A rushlight stood beside him, and apparently he was reading. Passing on to the door, he found that the latch-string was pulled in through the latch-hole; the door was secure. Steadily, Dan pressed against it; it was firm as the wall, no play to and fro on latch and hinge. "Bolted," he muttered, and stole back to the fence, in whose shadow Nick was still standing.
From one futile quest his implacable hands leaped to another, the length of chain which held the two handcuffs together rattling an eerie accompaniment to his eagerness. At last he withdrew a tiny key. Grasping the precious bit of steel in his right hand the Sepoy inserted it in the latch-hole of the left manacle; a quick turn, and the steel clasp relaxed its obnoxious embrace.
She then said, as if speaking to her son, "Put your ear to the latch-hole of the door I want to tell you something before I open the door." The head was placed at the latch-hole, and the old lady fired through the same spot and killed an Indian.
Then he thought she might be asleep and knocked louder, but only the humming-bird in the honeysuckle outside her window sent back a little humming answer through the latch-hole. Finally he ventured to open the door and peep in, but he saw that quiet loneliness reigned there. He went downstairs again and searched in the pantry and kitchen and then stood still.
The storm had shook its frame from early morning; and now the windows rattled, discordant sounds were heard on the veranda, wind sighed through the crevices, and fine snow rifted in under the door and through the latch-hole, and tossed itself into little drifts on the floor. Nyack was buried in a storm that night.
He heard no movement in reply: all was silence in the cottage. Was the weaver gone to bed, then? If so, why had he left a light? That was a strange forgetfulness in a miser. Dunstan knocked still more loudly, and, without pausing for a reply, pushed his fingers through the latch-hole, intending to shake the door and pull the latch-string up and down, not doubting that the door was fastened.
He would hasten out into the darkness, and then consider what he should do with the bags. He closed the door behind him immediately, that he might shut in the stream of light: a few steps would be enough to carry him beyond betrayal by the gleams from the shutter-chinks and the latch-hole.
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