I crept from the bed, moved the table beneath the transom, and climbed atop.  The opening was still a foot or so above my head.  Being young, strong, and active, I drew myself up by the strength of my arms so I could look—­until my muscles gave out!

I saw four men with lanterns moving here and there among some willows that bordered what seemed to be an irrigating ditch with water.  They were armed with long clubs.  Old Man Hooper, in an overcoat, stood in a commanding position.  They seemed to be searching.  Suddenly from a clump of bushes one of the men uttered an exclamation of triumph.  I saw his long club rise and fall.  At that instant my tired fingers slipped from the ledge and I had to let myself drop to the table.  When a moment later I regained my vantage point, I found that the whole crew had disappeared.

Nothing more happened that night.  At times I dozed in a broken sort of fashion, but never actually fell into sound sleep.  The nearest I came to slumber was just at dawn.  I really lost all consciousness of my surroundings and circumstances, and was only slowly brought to myself by the sweet singing of innumerable birds in the willows outside the blank wall.  I lay in a half stupor enjoying them.  Abruptly their music ceased.  I heard the soft, flat spat of a miniature rifle.  The sound was repeated.  I climbed back on my table and drew myself again to a position of observation.

Old Man Hooper, armed with a .22 calibre rifle, was prowling along the willows in which fluttered a small band of migratory birds.  He was just drawing bead on a robin.  At the report the bird fell.  The old man darted forward with the impetuosity of a boy, although the bird was dead.  An impulse of contempt curled my lips.  The old man was childish!  Why should he find pleasure in hunting such harmless creatures? and why should he take on triumph over retrieving such petty game?  But when he reached the fallen bird he did not pick it up for a possible pot-pie as I thought he would do.  He ground it into the soft earth with the heel of his boot, stamping on the poor thing again and again.  And never have I seen on human countenance such an expression of satisfied malignity!

I went to my door and looked out.  You may be sure that the message I had received from the unfortunate young lady had not been forgotten; but Old Man Hooper’s cynical delivery of the second paper had rendered me too cautious to undertake anything without proper reconnaissance.  The left wing about the courtyard seemed to contain two apartments—­at least there were two doors, each with its accompanying window.  The window farthest out was heavily barred.  My thrill at this discovery was, however, slightly dashed by the further observation that also all the other windows into the courtyard were barred.  Still, that was peculiar in itself, and not attributable—­as were the walls and remarkable transoms—­to former necessities of defence.  My first thought was to stroll idly around the courtyard, thus obtaining a closer inspection.  But the moment I stepped into the open a Mexican sauntered into view and began to water the flowers.  I can say no more than that in his hands that watering pot looked fairly silly.  So I turned to the right and passed through the wicket gate and into the stable yard.  It was natural enough that I should go to look after my own horse.