Part 32 (1/2)

They moved northward from the camp in the ravine and crossed the Mosquito Creek just above the home of the Doyles. Once over the creek, the hunters again spread out single file fifty yards apart.

They had gone but two hundred yards when the signal to halt was whispered along the line. Owen Brown reported to his father:

”There's a cabin just ahead.”

”We haven't charted it in our survey?”

”No.”

”It will not do to pa.s.s it,” said Brown.

”They might give the alarm.”

”Surround it and do your duty,” was the stern command.

Owen called three men, cautiously approached the door and knocked.

Something moved inside and a gun was suddenly rammed through a c.h.i.n.k in the walls. The muzzle line could be seen in the flash of a star's light.

The four men broke and scattered in the brush. They reported to the leader.

”We want no fight with this fool. No gun play if we can avoid it. We'll take our chances and let him alone. He'll think we're a bunch of sneak thieves. I don't see how we missed this man's place. It can't be five hundred yards from the Doyles'. Back to your places and swing round his cabin.”

Owen quickly gave the order and the hunters pa.s.sed on. The first one of the marked prey had shown teeth and claws and the hunters slipped on under the cover of the darkness to easier game.

The Doyles were not armed.

At least the chances were the old shotgun was not loaded, as it was used only for hunting.

The hunters crouched low and circled the Doyle house, crawling through the timber and the brush.

A hundred yards from the stable, a dog barked. Owen had carefully marked this dog on the day of the survey. He was merely a faithful yellow cur which Doyle had brought from Virginia. He looked about seven years old.

If crossed he might put up a nasty fight. If approached with friendly word by a voice he had once heard, the rest would be easy.

The signal was given to halt. The hunters paused and stood still in their tracks. Owen had taken pains to be friendly with this dog on the day of the survey. He had called him a number of times and had given him a piece of bread from his pocket. He was sure he could manage him.

In a low tone he whistled and called the dog by name. He had carefully recalled it.

”Jack!”

He listened intently and heard the soft step of a paw rustling the leaves. The plan was working.

The dog pushed his way into an open s.p.a.ce in the brush and stopped.

The hunter called softly:

”Jack, old boy!”

The dog wagged his tail. The man could see the movement of kindly greeting in the starlight, and ventured close. He bent low and called again: