We didn’t talk much for a while, but I could see Catty was thinking hard. He kind of wriggled around and squirmed quite a bit, and then he says:

“I can get you all loose any time you want me to.”

“How?” says I.

“I’ll tell you when the time comes,” he says, “and that’ll be when it’s good and dark, and there’s just one man on guard.”

“Young man,” says Mr. Dunn, “you’re talking through your hat.”

“Maybe,” says Catty, “but you can hear my voice coming through it, can’t you?”

“What if the mutineers find the treasure before dark?” says I.

“Then,” says Catty, “we’re out of luck, and we’ll have to think up some plan to get it away from them.”

“Huh,” says Mr. Dunn, “I’ll say you’re not easily discouraged, anyhow. How do you think you could get a treasure away from that gang if they got their hands on it?”

“There’d be a way,” says Catty. “There’s always a way.”

We spent a mighty long day in that tent, and about as uncomfortable as I ever heard of. But it did get dark after a year or two. Of course we didn’t know what was going on outside, but we could tell one thing, and that was that the mutineers hadn’t found the treasure. If they had found it we should have heard all the hollering. Every little while during the day our guard came in to look us over, but he didn’t take much interest in it, because we were tied to the tent pole, and there wasn’t any chance of our getting away. After dark he came in once, and we all pretended to be trying to sleep, so he went outside and sat down with his back to the tent-flap. He acted like he was settled for half an hour, anyhow.

“Now’s the time,” says Catty.

“For what?” says Mr. Dunn.

“To escape, of course.”

“Oh,” says Mr. Dunn. “We’re going to escape how, eh? Very well, young man, go ahead and escape.”

“Whose hands are on top?” says Catty.

“Mine,” says Mr. Dunn.

“Can you work the ropes along the pole and stand up? Try it. That’s the way. Don’t be afraid to lean on us, and we’ll shove.”

Mr. Dunn wriggled around for a spell, and then got Mr. House onto his feet, and I got onto mine.

“My hands are at the bottom,” says Catty. “Now, everybody get hold of the tent pole. This is a little tent. Take it easy. Lift. Lift slow and steady so it won’t be noticed outside. Lift her up. She’s coming—she’s coming.... Once more. Just an inch more.... Fine. Now you can let go.”

We let go, and there was Catty standing a yard away and loose from the pole, but his hands were tied behind him yet.

“Everybody sit down again like you were—in case the guard peeks in,” says he.

“How’d you do it?” says Mr. House.

“Simple. Just had you folks lift the pole and slipped my hands under the bottom when it came out of the sand.”

Mr. Dunn clucked like a fat duck. “Say, young man, you have got a head, haven’t you—for all the nonsense there’s in it. I never would have thought of that.”

“Quite likely,” says Catty. “Now I’ve got to get my hands loose. Here, I’ll back up to you, Wee-wee, and you see if you can get into my back pocket for my knife.... Look out!”

He plunked down where he had been with his hands behind him, and he was just in time about it, too, for the guard came nosing in to take a look. Everything seemed all right, I guess, so he slouched out again.

“Now,” says Catty, and I tried to get into his pocket. It was hard work, but I managed after a couple of minutes, and got his knife in my fingers. I passed it to him. He could work freer than any of us because he could move his arms and the pole didn’t interfere, so it wasn’t much trouble for him to open the knife.

“Here, Wee-wee,” says he, “take it in your teeth and bite hard. I’ll kneel right in front of you, and you see if you can’t saw this rope in two. You can do it.”

I tried. Now I want to say that it wasn’t half as easy as it sounded. Just you hold a knife in your mouth and try to cut a rope with it. Your neck doesn’t work. And after a while you get a crick—and—but what’s the use? It did cut through after a while, and Catty was free.

He took the knife then and cut the rest of us loose, and there we were.

“Better sit down around the pole again until we make up our minds just what to do,” says he. “If we go moving around the guard’s apt to see us against the light here, or to hear us.”

So we all snuggled against the post, and talked in whispers.

“You’re the general,” says Mr. Dunn. “So far, you’ve done fine. What next?”

“Listen, Mr. Dunn,” says Catty, “if I get you out of here, will you promise to quit interfering with the Albatross party and let us have the treasure?”

“Certainly not,” says Mr. Dunn.

“I was afraid you’d say that, but I had to ask. Well, I can’t leave you here a prisoner to these mutineers—enemy or no enemy. I’ve got to rescue you. We’ll take measures about the treasure when you’re free.”

“Rescue me. What about rescuing yourself?”

“Oh,” says Catty, “I’m rescued now. As far as I’m concerned, all I’ve got to do is crawl under the back of the tent and go. But you’re different.”

“Some,” says Mr. Dunn.

“Of course I can get away and go for help—but that wouldn’t be the way to do it. It would spoil things. No, I’ve got to rescue the whole kit and b’ilin’ of you.”

He began to crawl over to the tent wall farthest away from the opening.

“I’m going to slit it,” says he, “and as soon as I cut, you, Mr. Dunn, be right here to crawl through. Now.”

Mr. Dunn got through on his hands and knees, and then Mr. House and then me. Catty came last.

“It’s darker than a stack of black cats, thank goodness,” Catty whispered. “Take hold of hands so we don’t lose each other, and follow me. Crouch down.... Say, if you can’t crouch better than that, Mr. Dunn, get down on your hands and knees.”

“Young man,” says Mr. Dunn, “when you get to weigh what I do, you won’t think it’s so easy to crouch.”

“You got to crouch.... This way.... Drop!”

We all dropped flat and lay still, for there was a man coming, and he walked past so close I could almost touch him. But he didn’t see us, and my heart started to beat again. It missed about fifty ticks, I guess, and how in the world I’m ever going to get them back, I don’t know.

For a couple of minutes we lay as still as logs, and then Catty stirred us up again. “Come on,” says he.

“How about the barb wire?” says I.

“We’ll cross the wire when we get to it,” says he.

“I can see Mr. Dunn straddling over his own entanglement,” says I. “I’ll bet he’ll wish he hadn’t put it up.”

“I do,” says Mr. Dunn in a sad kind of voice.

“Huh,” says Catty, “the worst that can happen will be to tear your pants. Let’s move.”

“They’re still digging—by lantern light,” says Mr. House.

“They’ve got no time to lose,” says Catty. “They’ve got to find that treasure and get away before people begin to ask questions. You can bet they won’t waste a minute.”

“They’ll waste a lot more than that before I’m through with them,” says Mr. Dunn.

“You keep your mind on escaping,” says Catty. “That’s our business now. If those men catch us it won’t be they who lose time. I haven’t any hankering to be tied up to a tent pole again. And you can bet the next time they tie us, it won’t be so we can get away.”

“And,” says I, “that guard is about due to step into the tent to see if we’re all right.”

“Hurry,” says Mr. Dunn.

“We’ve got to go slow and cautious,” says Catty. “Keep hold of my hand, and come on. The wire ought to be right in front of us.”

“And to think,” says Mr. House, “all this has happened because those men got the treasure idea into their heads.”

“And because you got it into your head,” says Catty, “and because we got it into our heads. Everybody goes crazy when you mention treasure. There ought to be a law against hidden treasure.... But then,” says he, “what would folks write books about if there weren’t treasure to dig for.”

“And here’s the wire,” says I, “four strands high, and my pants are caught in it.”

“Can you climb over, or will you crawl under?” says Catty to Mr. Dunn.

“Hanged if I know, but crawling sounds most attractive. I’m not built for much climbing.”

“Wait, I’ll hold the bottom wire up so you can wiggle under,” says Catty.

Then Mr. Dunn got down on his stomach in the sand and tried to wiggle under like a snake, but I guess millionaires are all out of practice as wigglers, because, if I’m any judge, in a wiggling race Mr. Dunn would come out about last. Then, too, even when he was on his stomach he was pretty high off the ground. The bottom wire wasn’t so high off the ground as it might be, and the barbs reached down and grabbed the back of Mr. Dunn’s coat, and there he stuck.

He couldn’t edge back, and he couldn’t push forward, and it began to look as if we had got to the end of our escape. Either we’d have to stay with Mr. Dunn and be recaptured, or we’d have to go off and leave him. I knew Catty never would do that, and I didn’t think highly of it myself.

“Next time you go trying to hog a treasure,” says I to Mr. Dunn, “you’d better leave out the barb wire.”

“You bet I will,” says he, “and furthermore, I’ll hire somebody to do it for me while I stay comfortably at home. I’m not built for adventure and excitement.”

“If we had a shovel,” says I, “we might dig a trench and roll him through.”

“But we haven’t a shovel,” says Catty. “We haven’t anything.”

“Can’t we slip him out of his coat?” says I.

“Might if we had a derrick,” says Catty, “and if we had a yoke of oxen we might hitch to his shoulders and haul him through, coat or no coat.”

“For goodness sake, do something,” says Mr. Dunn. “I’m getting my mouth full of sand.”

I wanted to tell him he wouldn’t get sand in his mouth if he kept it shut, but that didn’t sound polite, and I didn’t mean it the way he’d think I did.

“Where’s your knife?” says I.

“Pocket,” says Catty.

“Slit his coat,” says I. “Cut him out of the wire like you’d cut out a fishhook that got stuck in your clothes.”

“Hum,” says Catty, “I s’pose that coat cost a lot of money, but it can’t be helped. Better lose a coat than your skin,” says he, and I guess Mr. Dunn agreed with him.

“Can’t see very well,” says Catty. “If I stick you let me know.”

“I will,” says Mr. Dunn emphatic-like.

“But don’t squeal,” says Catty. “It’ll bring the gang down on us hot-foot.”

“Go easy,” says Mr. Dunn. “I can feel that knife right on my spine.”

“Wiggle ahead every time I tell you to,” says Catty. “I’ll slit, and you wiggle, and we’ll make an inch or so, and if they give us time, I’ll get you through.”

“I haven’t got another wiggle in me,” says Mr. Dunn. “If I get out of this you’ll have to carry me. I’m done up.”

“Take it easy. Go slow. We’re coming,” says Catty, and just then we heard a holler back toward the tent and then lots of yells.

“They’ve got away.... They’ve got away,” somebody hollered.

“That’s the guard,” says Catty, as cool as a cucumber. “We’ll have to get a move on us now.”

Then the boss mutineer yelled, “Scatter everybody and look for them. They can’t be far. You’ve got to fetch them back—every one of them....” And there we were with a fat man on our hands—stuck under a barb wire fence.