“Certainly, sir,” said the lad quite unconsciously, and when Hale smothered a laugh, he looked around to see what had amused him. Darkness fell quickly, and in the gathering gloom they saw two more figures skulk into the cabin.
“We'll go now—for we want the fellow who's selling the moonshine.”
Again Hale was beset with doubts about the boy and his own responsibility to the boy's brothers. The lad's eyes were shining, but his face was more eager than excited and his hand was as steady as Hale's own.
“You slip around and station yourself behind that pine-tree just behind the cabin”—the boy looked crestfallen—“and if anybody tries to get out of the back door—you halt him.”
“Is there a back door?”
“I don't know,” Hale said rather shortly. “You obey orders. I'm not your brother, but I'm your captain.”
“I beg your pardon, sir. Shall I go now?”
“Yes, you'll hear me at the front door. They won't make any resistance.” The lad stepped away with nimble caution high above the cabin, and he even took his shoes off before he slid lightly down to his place behind the pine. There was no back door, only a window, and his disappointment was bitter. Still, when he heard Hale at the front door, he meant to make a break for that window, and he waited in the still gloom. He could hear the rough talk and laughter within and now and then the clink of a tin cup. By and by there was a faint noise in front of the cabin, and he steadied his nerves and his beating heart. Then he heard the door pushed violently in and Hale's cry:
“Surrender!”
Hale stood on the threshold with his pistol outstretched in his right hand. The door had struck something soft and he said sharply again: