“I—I don’t know.”
Johnny’s right hand gripped his automatic. Surely there had come a sharp crack. It sounded strange in the night.
“Board nails snapping in the frost perhaps.” He relaxed a little.
“Look, Johnny!” She gripped his arm till it hurt. “Look! Some dark object tumbling about under that huge tree. It—I think it looks like a man!”
Johnny was on his feet. “Drew! Drew Lane! Come here quick!” He all but shouted the words.
Before the call died on his lips, Drew was at his side. By that time not one dark object, but three were to be seen tumbling about on the snow beneath the giant cottonwood. Their antics were grotesque in the extreme—like men sewed into canvas sacks.
“Something’s happening,” Johnny hazarded.
“Or it’s a decoy to call us out,” Drew replied dryly.
What was to be done? Surely here was a quandary. One of the figures had stiffened and lay quite still like a corpse.
“May be faked,” Drew said grimly. “But a fellow has to see.” One hand on the door, the other gripping his automatic, he was prepared for a dash, when Johnny pulled him back.