Jim Taggart began to laugh, more in malice than in mirth, and, most of all, in an evil, gloating triumph. He came on, hurrying; he almost trod on Lynette's boot. Instinctively she jerked away from him; yet only because Taggart was so gloatingly bent upon his quarry he did not note her movement, or must have supposed that he had set a stone rolling.
"Ho!" cried Taggart. "Joe's a good kid after all, boys! He's waited for us, and he's got us a piping-hot supper! Wonder how he guessed we were starved like wildcats?"
"Damn him!" Lynette heard Deveril, and her fingers gripped him with a new agony of warning and supplication for silence.
"What's that?" demanded Taggart, thinking that Gallup or Shipton had spoken.
"You robbers!" cried Joe nervously. "Already you tryin' rob me, las' night. Now you tryin' rob me! I tell you...."
"Shut up!" snapped Taggart. "Back into your dirty den and we'll have a nice little talk with you."
"I tell you...."
Taggart was close upon him now and caught him by the shoulder, flinging him about, shoving him through the squat door of his dugout. Slight enough was the diversion, but both Lynette and Deveril were thankful for it, for the two figures drew the eyes of both Gallup and Shipton and held them. Joe reeled across the threshold; Taggart, not knowing what weapon Joe might have lying on his bunk, sprang nimbly after him. And Gallup and Shipton, to see everything, drew on close behind him. They passed the willows about the spring and, stooping, went in at Joe's door.
Lynette and Deveril lay very still, hesitating to move hand or foot. For both Gallup and Shipton stood on Joe's threshold, and that threshold was a few steps only from their hiding-place. The snapping of a twig, the crackling of a handful of dead leaves must certainly bring swift, searching eyes upon them.