The discovery that there was no cover on the north side cheered him
greatly and he called to Boggs, outlining a plan of action.
Boggs listened intently and then smiled for the first time since dawn.
"Bully for you, Terry!" he enthused. "Wait till dark--we'll fool 'em."
A bullet chipped the 'dobe at Terry's side and he ducked as he leaped
back. "From an angle--what did I tell you?" he laughed. "We'll drop
out here an' sneak behind the house after dark. They'll be watching the
door--an' they won't be able to see us, anyhow."
Boggs sucked his thumb tenderly and grinned. "After which--," he elated.
"After which--," gravely repeated Terry, the others echoing it with
unrestrained joy.
"Then, mebby, I can get a drink," chuckled Larkin, brightening under the
thought.
"The moon comes up at ten," warned a voice. "It'll be full to-night--an'
there ain't many clouds in sight."
"_Ol' King Cole was a merry ol' soul_," hummed McQuade, lightly.
"An'--a--merry--ol'--soul--was--he!--was--he!" thundered the chorus,
deep-toned and strong. "_He had a wife for every toe, an' some toes
counted three!_"
"Listen!" cried Meade, holding up his hand.
"_An' every wife had sixteen dogs, an' every dog a flea!_" shouted a
voice from the besiegers, followed by a roar of laughter.
The hilarity continued until dark, only stopping when John Terry slipped
out of the window, dropped to all-fours and stuck his head around the
corner of the rear wall.
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