Ricky must get away at once, her brother decided. Stubbornness or no stubbornness, she must go this time. Why he didn't think of going himself Val never afterwards knew. Perhaps he possessed a spark of the family love of danger, after all, but mostly he clung to his perch because of that last threat. Whoever Jeems was or whatever he had done, he was one and alone. And he might relish another player on his side. But Ricky must go.
He said as much in a fierce whisper, only to have her grin recklessly back at him. In pantomime she gestured that he might try to make her. Val decided that he should have known the result of his efforts. Ricky was a Ralestone, too. And short of throwing her off the platform and so unmasking themselves completely, he could not move her against her will.
"No," she whispered. "They're planning trouble for Jeems. He'll probably need us."
"Well," Val cautioned her, "if it gets too rough, you've got to promise to cut downstream for help. We'll be able to use it."
She nodded. "It's a promise. But we've got to stand by Jeems if he needs us."
"If he does—" Val was still suspicious. "He may fall in with their suggestions."
Ricky shook her head. "He isn't that kind. I don't care if he has been playing ghost."
Someone was walking along the path among the bushes bordering the back of the clearing. Although they could hear no sound, they could mark the passing of a body by the swish of the foliage. Val lay, face down, on the platform and reached for a stick of wood lying on the ground below. Somehow he did not like to think of being caught empty-handed when the excitement began.
"Hello." It was Red, suddenly genial. The Ralestones could almost feel the radiance of the smile which must have split his face.
"Whatta yo' doin' heah?" That was Jeems, and his demand was sharply hostile.