My progress at first was nothing to be proud of. I stumbled and fell over unseen rocks and logs, walked smack into sturdy trees, and was tangled in the brush constantly. At the top of the ridge the woods and brush grew thinner. It was practically bare ground here and I traveled the crest swiftly until the odorous dampness of the night air warned me that I was approaching the lake, and I paused sharply.
I was now, I judged, near the spot where I had descended from the ridge to warn Slade and Harris. If I was right, I would soon be able to see the lights from the cabins in the clearing below; and so fearful was I of Brack’s devilish shrewdness that I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled noiselessly forward to peer over the ridge.
Apparently my caution was unnecessary. So far as I could see there were no lights in the cabins. In fact, there might have been no cabins there, so absolutely was everything below me sunk in the black night.
Minute after minute passed with my eyes straining in vain for a glimpse of light and my ears listening vainly for some sound of human nearness, but the darkness was no less complete than the silence. Perhaps I had gone wrong. Perhaps that open space below, from whence rose dampness and odor, was not the lake at all, but the bay. More careful appraisal of my surroundings, however, convinced me that my course had been true. That was the lake down there; the cabins were on the farther side; and it being on toward ten o’clock, the candles were out and the doctor, George, and the others, were asleep.
This was the reasoning with which I relieved myself, as I let myself down the ridge toward the clearing. My caution, however, had not deserted me, and my progress was as noiseless as could be.
It was fully half an hour after leaving the top of the ridge before I lay in the brush behind the clearing. The cabin in which Betty and I had left George was before me and probably fifty yards away, but no sound or light hinted that it was inhabited.
The cold shiver which always came to me when I was afraid once more ran up my spine as I contemplated the open space between myself and the cabin. I wished greatly to retreat, so I promptly drove myself forward, pistol in hand, literally dragging myself up to the rear of the squat cabin whose very darkness and silence seemed eloquent with sinister possibilities.
Beneath the open window through which Betty and I had fled I lay with my head against the logs, listening for the sounds of breathing within. No such sound came. No sound of any kind came.
I lifted my head until an ear was over the sill of the window. It was so still that a man’s breathing, or the ticking of a watch, could not have escaped my strained hearing. I thrust my head inside the room. Now by its complete silence I knew that the room was empty, and I drew myself up slowly and clambered in.
After a while I struck a match. The room was bare. The bunks, blankets, chairs, dishes, the table, the stove, all had been removed. The floor and walls were bare.