CHAPTER X
THE END OF THE RAID
At the beginning of the fight, Hugh wakened from a troubled sleep into which he had fallen, wearied with fruitless efforts to break the lock of the door. One thought was ever in his mind, even in his dream: to escape. For this purpose he had clawed away a wide chink in the log walls, he had even dug under the threshold—-without avail.
Nevertheless, he was glad to be active and thankful that he had been unbound before his captors went away, leaving him a prisoner in the shanty until they were ready to release him. Joe Durgan had even been considerate enough to leave a half loaf of bread and a glass of beer on the table; but Hugh declined these delicacies.
All during the fight he crouched by the locked door, listening in alternate hope and dread of the outcome, now and then raising his voice amid the din and confusion outside. It was perhaps not strange that none of his friends heard him, for his shouts only mingled with those of the smugglers and were lost in the general clamor.
But they were heard by one man, who, though not exactly a friend, was yet an amiable enemy.
In the midst of the conflict, when the Revenue Service men had arrived to turn the tide of fortune, the door was quickly opened and shut, and a man stood in the room, panting hard.
Hugh sprang to his feet, ready for any new emergency.
"What are you-all doin' thar, youngster?" said a voice in the darkness, a deep voice which Hugh recognized as Durgan's.
"Trying to get out, of course," he replied defiantly, every nerve in his young body tingling with excitement. "What did you expect me to do, Durgan?"