The boats swung in to the bank indicated and the men tumbled out, clutching their rifles eagerly.
“Come along, Pitt.”
“No,” I responded. “From what I hear you’re bound for some sort of a crime.”
“So are you. That’s why I took you along—to make you pay for sleeping so lightly. Get out.”
Two men sprang into the boat toward me, and I was forced to obey. With Brack in the lead a single file was formed and I started up a faintly marked footpath which ran along the stream. I was placed near the middle of the line; Madigan brought up the rear. I was the only man in the party who was not armed.
For the next ten minutes we hurried forward, through brush, over rocks and fallen logs, and through muddy spring-holes without a word being spoken. Brack in the lead, seemed to take no notice of the obstacles that presented themselves, and every man in the line with the exception of myself seemed imbued by the same fierce eagerness. I was helpless. The man behind me was continually treading on my heels, his heavy breath was on my neck, and I, too, was forced to hurry, driven along, moving as in a cruel nightmare.
Brack stopped suddenly and held up his hand. A sound had broken the silence ahead of us. It was repeated, a dull, slapping sound, and Brack whispered an oath.
“They’re up; chopping wood for breakfast. Follow me.”
He struck off into a wooded ravine at right angles to the trail. At a distance which I estimated to be three city blocks from the river he led the way by zigzags up a series of hills and presently we were nearing the crest of a ridge beyond which no further hills were visible.
“Get down now,” he ordered. “The lake’s in the valley over this hill. The man who shows himself above the brush or makes a noise’ll get hurt.”