"Den hurry. Ef Ah was lef' in dishyer place twell midnight Ah'd be skeered plumb intuh de 'sylum, sho' as yo's bawn. Hurry up en git back, dat's all."
Pete cuddled up with his back against the stern thwart, and Matt whirled away and vanished into the timber.
As Matt figured it, he was not more than a mile from the cabin. He had landed on the side of the creek where he knew the shack to be, and if he followed the little water course he knew he would soon arrive at the place where he had left George and McGlory.
The timber was broken into by fields of corn, and by cleared pasture land. Matt pushed through the corn and climbed pasture fences, and within half an hour came to the end of his journey.
The cabin, nestling in a clump of oaks, seemed dark and deserted. George had known of the cabin as a rendezvous, in the fall, for duck hunters. It was a quiet and obscure place, and answered admirably the requirements of the boys while working out their plans in Lorry's behalf.
As Matt drew closer to the hut the silence oppressed him with a foreboding that something had gone wrong. The door was open, and he stepped inside.
Still there was no sign of life about the place.
"McGlory!" he called; "George!"
His voice echoed weirdly through the one room of the cabin, but brought no response.
Striking a match, he peered about him.