Drew had driven their boat to the very side of the dock, and was in the act of creeping toward the prow, when he paused to hiss:
“Listen!”
No need for this command. Johnny’s keen ears had caught it, the most unearthly sound heard on land or sea—a hollow chuckle that fairly dried the marrow in his bones.
“Wha-what is it?” he whispered.
“Who knows?” Drew was creeping forward once more.
“Light in the cabin,” came back to Johnny faintly. “They’re there all right. We’ll creep up on ’em. Get the drop if we can. We—”
“Listen!”
Again came that hollow chuckle. “As if it came from an empty cabin.” Johnny shuddered.
“All set. Come on.” Hollow chuckles meant little to Drew Lane.
Forgetting the moose hunters at their backs, they crept across the short stretch of planking that led to the cabin door.