"What's
that?" he called suddenly.
The talking and laughter ceased. My own strained ears were pervaded by a
slight rustling sound.
"Must be a rat," replied Sampson in relief. Strange how any sudden or
unknown thing weighed upon him.
The rustling became a rattle.
"Sounds like a rattlesnake to me," said Blome.
Sampson got up from the table and peered round the room. Just at that
instant I felt an almost inappreciable movement of the adobe wall which
supported me. I could scarcely credit my senses. But the rattle inside
Sampson's room was mingling with little dull thuds of falling dirt. The
adobe wall, merely dried mud was crumbling. I distinctly felt a tremor
pass through it. Then the blood gushed with sickening coldness back to
my heart and seemingly clogged it.
"What in the hell!" exclaimed Sampson.
"I smell dust," said Blome sharply.
That was the signal for me to drop down from my perch, yet despite my
care I made a noise.
"Did you hear a step?" queried Sampson.
Then a section of the wall fell inward with a crash. I began to squeeze
my body through the narrow passage toward the patio.
"Hear him!" yelled Wright. "This side."
"No, he's going that way," yelled someone else.
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