Back of the point the rocks rose steeply, with stunted pines, scrub oak and a tangle of scraggly bushes growing from every conceivable crevice and earth-pocket. It was far from easy going, but Steve pushed his way through the undergrowth with only an occasional pause, keeping as close to the shore as possible.
Presently he came upon a gully, slid into it, climbed the other side and finally, pushing through a grove of wind-tossed trees, stepped out into a narrow, open space. Then he paused abruptly.
On either hand steep, smooth masses of rock jutted up, shutting in the place completely. Less than a score of yards apart, they shelved down into the water, forming a tiny, sheltered cove toward which the ground sloped gently. It was a snug spot, shielded from storms, and also from observation, and a rough shack of weathered boards seemed a natural part of the gray, rock-strewn landscape. But Steve had not been expecting to find a hut here, and his first thought as he stared at it, motionless and a little tense, was to connect it, somehow with the man he was seeking.
For several minutes he stood there alert, his glance fixed curiously and intently on the cabin. It was one of the duck shooters’ huts, no doubt, of which the boys had told him. It must have stood there for some time, too, judging from the dingy, weathered look of the planking. But it seemed odd, with the duck season so far away, that the shutter of the single small window at the rear should be swinging open. Surely any one leaving it for a year or more would have made things more secure against intrusion.
Steve waited a little longer, turning over various possibilities in his mind, and then moved slowly forward. The stillness of the place, coupled with a certain instinct hard to define, made him feel that the shack was at the moment unoccupied. When he reached the window and looked in, he found that instinct had served him well. The place was empty, and after a brief survey, he moved around to the front and opened the door, which was merely on the latch. Instantly his eyes fell upon a raw, splintered spot where a lock had been and he bent to examine it closely.
“Huh!” he grunted. “I thought so. Somebody’s broken in.”
Thoughtfully he straightened up and looked around. There was little doubt in his mind as to who had made the forcible entry, but the object of it was as great a puzzle as the identity of the mysterious stranger. And presently he discovered that there was more than one in the marauding party.
In each of the four rough bunks at one end of the cabin were blankets. Also, scattered over the rude plank table in the middle of the room, were four tin plates and as many cups, all of which had been lately used.
“This is no place for me,” decided Steve as he took in these details. “If they should come back and find me here, I—”
The words clipped off and he whirled about with widening eyes as the muffled beat of an engine’s exhaust smote suddenly on his ears.