“Nay, I’ll lead, my sons,” cried the big fellow. “It’s my shanty, and I know every step of the way. You’d go right up to the door, and he’d have first chance of a shot. That won’t do for me. We must get first chance, and make him shoot at random, which means at nothing at all. Now then, follow me. Don’t fire unless you get a good chance.”
“But what is your plan, Bob?” said Dallas eagerly.
“Get him to fire, my son, and then go at him before he has time to load again.”
The lantern was left with the sledge, and with every nerve now upon the strain the two young men followed their sturdy companion, who gave them but few words as to their proceedings.
“Don’t be in a hurry to fire,” he said, “but when you get your chance, let him have it. Now, tread softly, and come on.”
The distance was comparatively short, and Abel’s heart beat fast and loud, as, upon passing through a thick clump of pines, there in front of them shone the light of a wood fire through the open door of Tregelly’s hut.
The owner stopped short and whispered.
“He’s there,” he said; “the fire has been made up.”
“But he must have been and gone,” said Dallas. “The door is wide open.”
“His artfulness,” said the Cornishman. “It’s so as he can hear our coming, and to throw dust in our eyes. He’s there, or else outside waiting for us, so look out.”