The long patrol

by Albert M. Treynor

There was but one room in the place—a solid walled chamber with a fireplace and built-in bunk, and three or four pieces of rude furniture scattered about. A packing box in the center of the floor apparently served as a table. Above it, from a ceiling beam, hung a lighted lantern. The corporal glanced swiftly about him and saw that the structure did not differ in any essential from the two cabins in the valley on the southern side of the pass. There were cooking utensils, a shelf full of provisions, and plenty of cut firewood. Evidently the place was one of a line of way stations intended for the accommodation of Stark's transient guests.

Dexter indicated a slab stool in the corner, and told Crill to sit down. He dropped the revolver into the side pocket of his jacket where it might be easily reached. "I won't hesitate to kill you," he said quietly. He eyed the outlaw's huge shoulders and big, ham-like hands, and knew that without the use of his right arm he could not hope to last two seconds in a physical encounter. "You stay your distance, always," he pursued. "The dead line is five feet and if you come nearer than that to me at any time, I'm going to let you have it."

Having delivered himself of his warning, he turned casually aside, laid kindling in the hearth, and built a fire. He ransacked a cupboard, helped himself to such provisions as he found there, and started breakfast for three people. Then, while the coffee pot was simmering, he stood as close as he dared to the fire, drying his dripping clothes.

Alison had come forward to toast the bacon, and he found a chance to talk to her, without being overheard by Crill.

"I heard your call for help," he told her. "The place was seven or eight miles from here. How was it done?"

"I may have cried out," she said. "I—I was terribly frightened when I realized that this man was cutting through the door to reach the latch."

"I heard your voice—recognized it," he persisted. "It was as though it had carried to me on the breeze from a great distance. And you spoke my name." He eyed her keenly. "How did you make me hear?"

Her glance shifted, and she refused to meet his gaze. "It could have been just your imagination," she said after a little pause. "I—I was in great trouble, and it could be that by a—some strange occult way my thoughts and fears were carried to you. Queer things like that have happened—things that none of us can understand." Her eyes softened as she lifted them fleetingly to his face. "But whatever it was you heard or fancied you heard, you came to me. I shall never forget that."

He regarded her tensely for a moment, and shook his head. Whatever the mystery of the far-off voice, she had no intention of confiding the truth to him. After all, he was her enemy, and he could expect no help from her in solving riddles. And from previous experience he knew how futile it was to cross-question her when she had made up her mind to keep silent. He smiled lightly. "All right," he said. "It's evident that Stark and his guests have some uncanny method of projecting voices through the wilderness. And you're wise not to tip yourselves off to the police. But whatever the system is, I'm glad at least that I heard, and got here in time."

The breakfast preparations were finished in silence, and while the girl put plates on the packing box table, he poured the coffee and served the grilled bacon strips, Crill was motioned to a place at the table opposite Dexter, and he sat down sullenly to eat.