One of the laborers pointed toward the cave. About the entrance some felled trees and piled underbrush showed where the men had been working.
“Where—where is the Doctor?” stammered Kearns, his eyes still blinking in the strong sunlight and his thoughts and words coming with some effort.
The two laborers turned to each other. On the face of each was a bucolic leer. They eyed each other for an instant and then the taller of the two slowly raised his forefinger, tapped his forehead, and winked knowingly to his companion. He was a tall, loose-jointed fellow, with a little black mark on the left side of his nose and there was something impudent and aggressive in him as he stood there grinning and showing his yellow fangs. His companion was short and stocky, with a freckled face, sandy hair, and a manner suggestive of bashful awkwardness. He turned to the two strangers furtively, as if half fearful that the other’s actions might give offense.
“The Doctor,” repeated the taller man slowly and with peculiar intonation; “the Doctor! I guess the chances be he’s not far off and in a hot chase after both of yees!”
And he chuckled softly to himself, glancing at his companion.
“Not far off! Have you seen him? Which way did he go?” quickly inquired Dean.
“Seen him?” repeated the rustic; “no! I ain’t seen him, nor any of his men.”
“Then what made you say he was not far off?” demanded Dean.
Silence from the two rustics, who continued to exchange glances.
“Look here, my good men!” exclaimed Kearns impatiently; “wake up and listen to me. Just show us the way to the road and you shall be suitably rewarded. Perhaps, too, you would find us a horse and carriage which we could hire to take us home.”