That silent cabin evidently puzzled them, and they were not sure whether they had run Cowley to earth, or whether he had taken horse and fled. They discussed matters; then, at a gesture from Ballard, the other three scattered and took to cover along the edge of the clearing. Ballard himself, rifle under his arm, stepped out and walked toward the shack, his eyes flitting over it searchingly.
“If Cowley was here with his rifle, Ballard would be a dead man—and knows it,” thought Denis admiringly. “There’s one brave man, at all events!”
Ballard evinced no hesitation, though he must have known that he was taking his life in his hand by that open advance. He strode across the clearing, and paused at the doorway, too dazzled by the sunlight to make out objects within.
“Come in, Ballard!” spoke up Denis quietly. “Come in; this is Stewart speaking. But leave your men where they are.”
Ballard stared in blank astonishment, as his eyes finally made out the figure of Denis sitting on the bunk opposite the door. With one swift glance around the otherwise empty room, he stepped inside and eyed Denis.
“Well, for the love of Mike!” he ejaculated slowly. “Thought you had vamosed down the river last night.”
“No,” smiled Denis. “I borrowed one of your canoes and left it on the shore, half a mile below here. You’ll find it waiting.”
“Hang the canoe!” snapped the other. “Where’s Cowley? We want that cuss.”
“That’s really too bad,” returned Denis pleasantly, keeping his finger on the trigger of the rifle across his lap. “You won’t find him.”
“Eh?” Ballard’s face set savagely. “Has he cleared out o’ here?”