“There is one consolation,” said Steve, who was walking with his well arm linked in Marmaduke’s. “Next time we see a ‘dynamite’ we shall know what it is, and probably I shall not care to make a plaything of one again.”
After a weary march due east, they came to a small cleared space, in which stood a miserable hut. A faint line of smoke was curling out of the roof, but no person was in sight.
“Now, this isn’t another powder magazine,” said Steve; “therefore it must be a ‘wayside hut.’ My wounds have made me thirsty, of course, and we can probably get a drink here, whether any one is in or not, so I am going in.”
The others, also, felt thirsty; and Charles was advancing to knock at the door, when Steve softly called him back.
“Now, Charley,” he said, “I haven’t read romances for nothing, and if there’s villainy any where in this forest, it’s here. Of course you’ve all read that villains have what is called a ‘peculiar knock?’”
“Yes,” whispered four out of the seven.
“Well, I’m going to give a ‘peculiar knock’ on that door, with my sound hand, and you must mark the effect it has. You needn’t grasp your weapons; but just keep your eyes and ears open. Then will you do whatever I ask?”
“We will,” they said, smiling at Steve’s whim.
Then the man who had not read romances for nothing stole softly to the door, and knocked in a peculiar manner.
Without a moment’s hesitation, a voice within said, “Well done!”