They were approaching it from one side, feeling that they could not be seen quite so readily, unless the inmates were peeping through any cracks which might be in the place.
It was a half-log, half-board place, leaning as if it had been pushed over by strong winds, with no window or other opening on their side, a door opening out toward the direction from which they had come. The door was closed, evidently, though they could not be certain at the angle from which they approached.
Foot by foot they got closer to the shack, finally getting to the last few trees that stood about twenty feet distant.
With a nod of his head Frank indicated the front, and the boys followed him around, keeping their eyes steadily fastened on the chinks, cracks, or crevices in the building, fearful each moment that some one would take a shot at them with a firearm.
“Two of you fellows, Paul and Buster, stay outside,” whispered Frank. “Keep your guns ready. Lanky and I will go in to see what’s there. See the tracks?”
He pointed to the footprints which led directly to the front door. There was no longer any doubt. They had followed their quarry to the place where they were hidden. No other tracks indicated that the men had left the place. There was only one direction to the prints. The men were still within that place!
“Be ready to move quickly,” whispered Frank. “All ready? We’ll run for that front door. Go!”
Frank darted across the twenty feet of space which separated them from the shack. Lanky was alongside. There came no sound from within.
Frank tried the door very gingerly. To the boys’ great surprise it opened when the latch was lifted.
Inside it was as dark as pitch. As the day was almost gone, but little light fell through the door to give any indication of what was within. Frank felt certain two men were inside, yet there came no sound. It was all very strange. His decision was made, though.