The Last of the Plainsmen 



sociably dn my sleeping-bag was a great black taran 

 tula, as large as my hand. 



For one still moment, notwithstanding my con 

 tempt for Lawson s advice, I certainly acted upon it 

 to the letter. If ever I was quiet, and if ever I was 

 cold, the time was then. My companions snored in 

 blissful ignorance of my plight. Slight rustling 

 sounds attracted my wary gaze from the old black 

 sentinel on my knee. I saw other black spiders run 

 ning to and fro on the silver, sandy floor. A giant, 

 as large as a soft-shell crab, seemed to be meditating 

 an assault upon Jones s ear. Another, grizzled and 

 shiny with age or moonbeams I could not tell which 

 pushed long, tentative feelers into Wallace s cap. 

 I saw black spots darting over the roof. It was not 

 a dream ; the cave was alive with tarantulas ! 



Not improbably my strong impre. #n that the 

 spider on my knee deliberately winked at me .was the 

 result of memory, enlivening imagination. n&amp;lt;But it 

 sufficed to bring to mind, in one rapid, consoling 

 flash, the irrevocable law of destiny that the deeds 

 of the wicked return unto them again. 



I slipped back into my sleeping-bag, with a keen 

 consciousness of its nature, and carefully pulled the 

 flap in place, which almost hermetically sealed me up. 



&quot; Hey ! Jones ! Wallace ! Frank ! Jim ! &quot; I yelled, 

 from the depths of my safe refuge. 



128 



