"Let's go up--stump yer," he said, with a daredevil grin.
"Huh, yer wouldn't dast."
Womanlike, she was hoping that he would "dast" and, with the true
instinct of her sex, she chose unerringly the one way to bring about
the realization of her hope.
Her companion met the challenge like a man. With a swaggering show of
courage, he went to the stairway and climbed boldly up--six full steps.
Then he paused and looked down, "I don't dast, don't I?"
From the lower step she spurred his faltering spirit, "Dare yer--dare
yer--dare yer."
He came reluctantly down two steps, "Will yer go up if I do?"
She nodded, "Uh-huh--but yer gotter go first."
He looked doubtfully up at the edge of the cliff so far above them.
"Shucks," he said, with conviction, "ain't nobody up there 'cept old
Interpreter, an' that dummy, Billy Rand. I know 'cause Skinny Davis an'
Chuck Wilson, they told me. They was up--old Interpreter, he can't do
nothin' to nobody--he ain't got no legs."
Gravely she considered with him the possible dangers of the proposed
adventure. "Billy Rand has got legs."
"He can't hear nothin', though--can't talk neither," said the leader of
the expedition. "An' besides maybe he ain't there--we might catch him
out. What d'yer say? Will we chance it?"
She looked up doubtfully toward the unknown land above.
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