"Yep," Bill answered, following within the hut to where Derrick's lighted candle burnt in the neck of a bottle among the rank weeds that grew about the broken hearthstone.
"Sure?"
Bill nodded emphatically.
"It's all serene," he answered. "Nobody seen us start, and we ain't set eyes on a livin' human all along the trail."
"Good," said Derrick. "Y'see, I was some afraid as that all-fired, double-barrelled detective, Sergeant Silk, might ha' gotten wind of suthin'. Thar ain't a whole lot as he don't ferret out somehow. Say, he ain't been spyin' around any, has he?"
"Haven't seen him for weeks," reported Hen Faxon.
"Reckon he's gone off on another patrol," said Bill. "Anyhow, he ain't liable t' ha' gotten wind of this yer game we're startin' on, and that's sure."
"Then we're safe ter pull it off," declared Red Derrick, "and we kin lay our plans right now. But first, I suspicion you two boys is some dry, eh? Say, thar's suthin' in the shape of liquid refreshment here."
He opened his haversack and produced a bottle and a tin pannikin, and each of the three took a long drink in his turn. One of the fallen roof timbers served as a seat for Derrick and Allison. Hen Faxon seated himself on the earthen floor, with his back against one of the upright logs of the wall.
As he did so he was half-conscious of a rustling movement at the other side of the timber against which he leant. He drew himself forward an inch or two and looked round.