"Wasn't that you that answered my whistling a little while ago?" asked Bud Heyland in an undertone, that fairly trembled with dread.
"No, sir; as I have explained to you, I signaled to find where you were only a minute since, and I heard nothing of the kind from you."
"Then we're betrayed!"
Words would fail to depict the tragic manner in which Bud Heyland gave utterance to this strange remark. His voice was in that peculiar condition, known as "changing," and at times was a deep bass, sometimes breaking into a thin squeak.
He sank it to its profoundest depths as he slowly repeated the terrifying expression, and the effect would have been very impressive, even to Cyrus Sutton, but for the fact that on the last word his voice broke and terminated with a sound like that made by a domestic fowl when the farmer seizes it by the head with the intention of wringing its neck.
But Cyrus Sutton seemed to think that it was anything else than a laughing matter, and he asked the particulars of Bud, who gave them in a stealthily modulated voice, every word of which was plainly heard by Fred Sheldon, who began to feel somewhat uncomfortable.
"You remember the man that was behind us listening when we sat on the rock last night?" asked Bud.
"Of course I do."
"Well, he's watching us still, and ain't far off this very minute. I wish I had a chance to draw a bead on him."