From the window Murrell watched him cross the clearing, followed by the girl, Bess, who was to row him over to the opposite shore. He reflected that these men—the Wares and Fentresses and their like—were keen enough where they had schemes of their own they wished put through; it was only when he reached out empty hands that they reckoned the consequences.
Three-quarters of an hour slipped by, then, piercing the silence, Murrell heard a shrill whistle; it was twice repeated; he saw Bess go down to the landing again. A half-hour elapsed and a man issued from the scattering growth of bushes that screened the shore. The new-comer crossed the clearing and entered the cabin. He was a young fellow of twenty-four or five, whose bronzed and sunburnt face wore a somewhat reckless expression.
“Well, Captain, what's doing?” he asked, as he shook hands with Murrell.
“I've been waiting for you, Hues,” said Murrell. He continued, “I reckon the time's here when nothing will be gained by delay.”
Hues dropped down on a three-legged stool and looked at the outlaw fixedly and in silence for a moment. At length he nodded understandingly.
“You mean?”
“If anything's to be done, now is the time. What have you to report?”
“Well, I've seen the council of each Clan division. They are ripe to start this thing off.”
Murrell gave him a moment of moody regard.
“Twice already I've named the day and hour, but now I'm going to put it through!” He set his teeth and thrust out his jaw.