“Lead on!” Drew Lane’s tone was impressive. “We will follow.”
So, one by one, with a slim girl in the lead, they filed out of the shack.
CHAPTER XXXII
THE PLACE OF RENDEZVOUS
At an hour after darkness had fallen, had you happened upon a certain rather large cabin on a point of land where many islands and this point form a bay on the shore of Lake Huron, and had you chanced to look through a crack in the rough board shutters, you might have witnessed an impressive sight.
The room was large, twice as large as the average living room. It was not ceiled. The single fluttering candle formed grotesque shadows among its rafters of round cedar logs.
The place was devoid of furniture. In lieu of a chair, the present occupants had brought in from out of doors blocks of wood, an orange crate and some nail kegs found on the beach.
Seated as they were in a half circle about the candle, with revolvers strapped about waists and rifles across knees, they looked grim and determined.
There was Drew Lane with stiff hat still on one side, and Tom Howe, silent as ever. There was “The Ferret,” shrinking into the darkest corner. There were the two over-stout Federal men. There, too, was Johnny, eager and expectant; and close beside him, as if trusting him most of all, as in truth she did, was Joyce Mills. So, for a time, they sat in silence awaiting the zero hour. For directly across the bay about half an hour’s row, was a hunting lodge which was to be the center of their attack.
“Do you see this cabin?” The voice of “The Ferret” sounded strange, coming as it did from his dark corner. There was no answer. None was expected. “It has seen much of life, this cabin has. It has known life and death, love and hate, fear and defiance. And now comes the law to claim its humble protection.
“It’s a ragged old cabin; yet how many homes have witnessed more of life than it has?