He laughed at this merry sally, and Joe Durgan responded with a snort.
"Who you-all got thar?" was his next question, as the others came up. "A kid, eh? What you-all doin' with him?" He blinked at Hugh, much as a sleepy owl blinks at a hunter who has discovered its nest. Then a thought crossed his mind: "O-ho! you're one o' the crowd campin' o'er yonder!"
"Right you are, Mr. Durgan!" declared Hugh with calm politeness. "But why I've been captured and brought here, I don't quite see. I wasn't doing any harm that I know of just prowling around the islands for the fun of it,—-nothing more."
"Whar your frien's?"
"Don't know, I'm sure. They'll be over here looking for me in a short while, I guess."
"They will, eh? Don't say so? Well, come in and make yourself to home."
There was something so sinister in this invitation and in the leer which accompanied it, that Hugh felt a qualm of misgiving. He hung back, uncertain what to say next, until cross-eyed Harry gave him a push that sent him staggering through the doorway. The four men then entered the cabin after him, closing the door cautiously.
Inside the hut they were in comparative darkness, the only light coming in between the chinks in the log walls. An opening which had once served as a window was now boarded across, for some unknown reason. The only furniture in the dwelling consisted of a fine old mahogany table—-sadly out of place—-three cheap wooden chairs, a cupboard against one wall, and a rude bunk beside it covered with deer-skins. From the cupboard Durgan brought forth a tallow candle set upright on a broken saucer. Lighting this, he placed it on the table.
"Sit o'er thar," he said to Hugh, pointing to the bunk.
Hugh obeyed in silence; and the men then gathered around the table, speaking in tones so low that he could scarcely distinguish the words.