[CHAPTER XVII.]
THE SPRINGING THEREOF.
The rude hut, which, judging by its odor and condition, was used as an occasional shelter for the bay fishermen, was full of talk and smoke. Herc could not catch much meaning from the confused babel of tongues, but judged from the intelligible snatches he could seize upon, that it related to himself and Ned.
He was hardly surprised to recognize, among the occupants of the place, Chance and Merritt, as well as Herr Muller. There were four or five other men, including the one who had led him into the trap.
Herc's keen eyes also noticed one peculiarity about each of the men about him. Every one of them wore in his buttonhole a tiny strip of bright red ribbon. What its significance might be, he had no way of telling, of course, but it impressed him.
"Well," said Herr Muller at last, his voice rising masterfully above those of the rest, "we had better be getting on board. The tide is on the turn, and we have much to do. Besides, they may pursue us from the town."
"No chance of that, comrade," rejoined the man who had conducted Herc from Bartonville. "I got the lad away without any one noticing our departure."
"Just the same, both those Dreadnought Boys are tricky as cats," snarled Merritt. "My advice is to get away at once."