Big Gabe was holding greedily to the weapon; if he could not get anything else out of the game, at least he was sure of this; and ever since his eyes had first fallen upon that gun, in Teddy’s hands, his fingers had fairly itched for it.
At one time the adventure had threatened to develop into a tragedy, but somehow, with the advent of that old fiddle on the stage, it had changed to a comedy, bordering almost on a farce.
The two pursuers presently decided that those they were following must have come to a halt, for the sound of voices grew more perceptible and then a light sprang up just ahead.
This, of course, came from a fire that had been hastily kindled for several reasons, chief of which might be set down the sudden dislike both men just now entertained with regard to being left in the dark.
Doubtless all thoughts of their plan against the liberty of the Cincinnati millionaire-manufacturer’s son and heir was now abandoned, temporarily, at least. Crawley was drinking from time to time, to imbibe artificial courage; Big Gabe uttering ugly words, because in his mad rush to escape he had struck his wounded arm against the door frame, with much consequent pain.
Teddy now led his companion closer to the camp, where the two men had started a fire. He warned Dolph to be very careful, since Big Gabe was in a surly temper, and would possibly shoot “at the drop of the hat,” leaving all inquiries until afterwards.
It was found that the fire burned on the bank of a small creek that ran into the lake, presumably.
This creek flowed through a sunken bed, some six feet or so below the surrounding surface; and to Teddy’s experienced eye, the depression presented the best possible opportunity for approaching unseen the spot where the camp fire burned.