For several moments he lay listening intently for any sound which might come from within; but there was none. He crawled to the doorway and peered within. Utter darkness shrouded and hid the interior.
Billy rose and walked boldly inside. If he could see no one within, then no one could see him once he was inside the door. Therefore, so reasoned Billy Byrne, he would have as good a chance as the occupants of the hut, should they prove to be enemies.
He crossed the floor carefully, stopping often to listen. At last he heard a rustling sound just ahead of him. His fingers tightened upon the revolver he carried in his right hand, by the barrel, clublike. Billy had no intention of making any more noise than necessary.
Again he heard a sound from the same direction. It was not at all unlike the frightened gasp of a woman. Billy emitted a low growl, in fair imitation of a prowling dog that has been disturbed.
Again the gasp, and a low: “Go away!” in liquid feminine tones—and in English!
Billy uttered a low: “S-s-sh!” and tiptoed closer. Extending his hands they presently came in contact with a human body which shrank from him with another smothered cry.
“Barbara!” whispered Billy, bending closer.
A hand reached out through the darkness, found him, and closed upon his sleeve.
“Who are you?” asked a low voice.
“Billy,” he replied. “Are you alone in here?”