Part 34 (1/2)
Thus far, he had obeyed her. He had grown straight, true to the memory of that prayer.
Yes, life was good. He tossed away his cigarette, ground it into the ground with his heel, then lay back against the tree, drinking in great drafts of the clean night air. The forest was so quiet that he could hear the distant tinkle of Cedar Creek down beyond the Cabin. The time was now well after eleven. What if Hawk Kennedy failed to appear? And how long must----?
A tiny sound close at hand, clear, distinct. Peter took a chance and called out,
”Is that you, Hawk Kennedy?”
Silence and then a repet.i.tion of the sound a little louder now and from directly overhead. Peter rose, peering upward in amazement.
”Yes, I'm here,” said a low voice among the leaves above him.
And presently a foot appeared, followed by legs and a body, emerging from the gloom above. Peter threw the light of his torch up into the tree.
”Hey! Cut that,” commanded a voice sharply.
And Peter obeyed. In a moment a shape swung down and stood beside him.
After the glare of the torch Peter couldn't make out the face under the brim of the cap, but he could see that it wore a mustache and short growth of beard. In size, the stranger was quite as tall as Peter.
Hawk Kennedy stood for a moment listening intently and Peter was so astonished at the extraordinary mode of his entrance on the scene that he did not speak.
”You're from McGuire?” asked the man shortly.
”Yes.”
”Why didn't he come himself?”
The voice was gruff, purposely so, Peter thought, but there was something about it vaguely reminiscent.
”Answer me. Why didn't he come?”
Peter laughed.
”He didn't tell me why. Any more than you'd tell me why you've been up this tree.”
”I'm takin' no chances this trip. I've been watchin'--listenin',” said the other grimly. ”Well, what's the answer? And who--who the devil are you?”
The bearded visage was thrust closer to Peter's as though in uncertainty, but accustomed as both men now were to the darkness, neither could make out the face of the other.
”I'm McGuire's superintendent. He sent me here to meet you--to bring you something----”
”Ah--he comes across. Good. Where is it?”
”In my pocket,” said Peter coolly, ”but he told me to tell you first not to forget the blood on the knife, Hawk Kennedy.”
The man recoiled a step.
”The blood on the knife,” he muttered. And then, ”McGuire asked you to say that?”
”Yes.”