"I hear the tread of a foot," replied the Indian.
"A deer stalking on the shore of the creek," said Dauntrees.
"More like the foot of a man," returned Pamesack, in a lowered voice; "we should talk less to make our way safe.—There is the growl of a dog."
Arnold now called the attention of his companions to the outlines of a low hut which was barely discernible through the wood where an open space brought the angle of the roof into relief against the water of the creek, and as they approached near enough to examine the little structure more minutely, they were saluted by the surly bark of a deep throated dog, fiercely redoubled. At the same time the sound of receding footsteps was distinctly audible.
"Who dwells here?" inquired Dauntrees, striking the door with the hilt of his sword.
There was no answer, and the door gave way to the thrust and flew wide open. The apartment was tenantless. A few coals of fire gleaming from the embers, and a low bench furnished with a blanket, rendered it obvious that this solitary abode had been but recently deserted by its possessor. A hasty survey of the hut, which was at first fiercely disputed by the dog—a cross-grained and sturdy mastiff—until a sharp blow from a staff which the forester bestowed sent him growling from the premises, satisfied the explorers that so far, at least, they had encountered nothing supernatural; and without further delay or comment upon this incident they took their course along the margin of St. Jerome's Creek. After a short interval, the beating of the waves upon the beach informed them that they had reached the neighbourhood of the shore of the Chesapeake. Here a halt and an attentive examination of the locality made them aware that they stoodu upon a bank, which descended somewhat abruptly to the level of the beach that lay some fifty yards or more beyond them. In the dim starlight they were able to trace the profile of a low but capacious tenement which stood almost on the tide mark.
"It is the Chapel!" said Dauntrees, in an involuntary whisper as he touched the Ranger's arm.
"It is Paul Kelpy's house, all the same as I have known it these twenty years:—a silent and wicked house," whispered Arnold, in reply.
"And a pretty spot for the Devil to lurk in," said Dauntrees, resuming his ordinary tone.
"Hold, Captain," interrupted the Ranger, "no foul words so near the Haunted House. The good saints be above us!" he added, crossing himself and muttering a short prayer.