“But we must wait,” he said to the log wall before him, in tones loud enough for the girl’s ears. “The guard will be on the alert early in the night. Later he will relax his vigil.”
“Yes, yes. We must wait!” came from the other side of the wall.
“I’m putting out my light, retiring for the night.” These words, ending in a subdued laugh, came from behind the wall half an hour later, telling Red that for the eyes of the guard she had retired for the night.
“Retired for the night,” Red thought soberly. “Wonder when we will retire, and where?”
As he thought of the cold black waters of this inland bay, a mental picture of his own form, lying ten fathoms deep where the fishes play, came to him. He saw his hands waved about by the currents. Then with a shudder he shook himself free from the illusion.
Fifteen minutes later he too “retired for the night.” After that, with the cabin shrouded in darkness, he sat and listened to the sounds of the night.
Curious sounds they were to one who knew nothing of wild life; the shrill, long-drawn whistle of some bird calling to his mate; the throaty call of a bull moose from down the bay, and that piercing scream of the loon, never failing to set his blood running cold.
He thought he caught the sound of footsteps. The guard! What if he appeared and discovered all that had been done? He listened long for a rattle at the lock, but none came.
At last, standing erect, he stretched himself like a cat, then said in a hoarse whisper:
“I’m taking down the wall.”