ite home,
moving to the task with conscientious slowness, stopping a dozen times
to make excursions into the outside world. By diligent economy of his
working moments, he succeeded in covering almost two weeks in the labor
of putting his house into order. His bedroom was next to the barricade
that separated the long stone excavation from the bottomless abyss.
Divided from the bedroom by an imaginary line, was the store-room of
provisions. The cans and boxes were arranged along the floor with
methodical exactitude. Different varieties of fruit and preserves were
interspersed in such fashion that none was repeated until every variety
had been passed.

"I begins with this can of peaches," said Willock, laying his finger
upon the beginning of the row--"then comes apples, pears, plums; then
peaches, apples, pears, plums; then peaches, apples, pears, plums; then
peaches--blest if I don't feel myself getting sick of 'em already....
And now my meats: bacon, ham. My breadstuffs: loaves, crackers. My
fillers: sardines, more sardines, more sardines, likewise canned
tomatoes. Let me see--is it too much to say that I eats a can of
preserves in two days? Maybe three. That is, till I sickens. I
begins with peach-day. This is Monday. Say Thursday begins my
apple-days. I judge I can worm myself down through the list by this
time next month. One thing I am sot on: not to save nothing if I can
bring my stomach to carry the burden with a willing hand. I'll eat
mild and calm, but steadfast. Brick Willock he says, 'Better starve
all at once, when there's nothing left, than starve a little every
day,' says Brick. 'When it's a matter of agony,' says he, 'take the
short cut.'"

In arranging his retreat, he had left undisturbed the wagon-tongue,
since removing it from the end of the floor for a more secure
barricade; it had stood with several of the sideboards against the
wall, as if Brick meditated using them for a special purpose. Such was
indeed his plan, and it added some zest to his present employment to
think of what he meant to do next; this was nothing less than to make a
dugout in the cove.

To this enterprise he was prompted not only by a desire to vary his
monotonous days, but to insure safety from possible foes. Should a
skulking savage, or, what would be worse, a stray member of the robber
band catch sight of him among the hills, the spy would spread the news
among his fellows. A relentless search would be