Tregarvon rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and stared hard at the oak. “Nothing doing,” he said.
“Yes, there is,” Carfax asserted. “There is a man behind that tree. I saw him just before I shook you awake.”
“Piffle!” said Tregarvon. “That oak isn’t big enough to hide a man.”
“Just the same, he is there!” retorted Carfax, still in a whisper. Then: “I suppose it didn’t occur to you that we might need something more persuasive than our bare hands up here to-night, did it?”
“No; and we shan’t.” Tregarvon was suddenly reminded of his promise to Richardia that there should be no tragedies. “What we can’t handle peaceably, we’ll let go.”
“All right; you’re the doctor,” said the golden youth mildly. “Nevertheless, if I had a gun I’d go out and capture that fellow who is hiding behind the tree.”
“Still nervous, are you?” Tregarvon put in. “You are dreaming, Poictiers. There isn’t any one there.”
“All right, again,” was the serene reply. “Have it that way, if you like. Only don’t forget to keep your eye on the tree.”
That was the beginning of a patient watch which was maintained for a full quarter of an hour. The night was perfectly still; there was not wind enough to rustle the browning leaves of the oaks or to whisper in the pines. Afar off, the little screech-owl whose haunts had been invaded by the drilling plant lifted up his voice in shrill chatterings, but there were no other sounds to break the silence. Once during the watchful vigil Tregarvon thought he saw something stirring among the trees on the farther side of the glade, and his fingers closed upon Carfax’s arm. But when he looked again the shadows were undisturbed.
“This is tremendously exciting,” Carfax commented finally, in gentle irony. “If I weren’t morally certain that I saw a man dodge behind that tree a little while ago, I’d fall asleep.”