The two started ahead.
The dreary, deserted aspect of the surroundings, the distant booming of the guns and the nature of the expedition all combined to produce a tingling sensation in Don Hale’s nerves.
Now they were approaching the great trees, and the boy caught his first glimpse of the old dilapidated dwelling. In the dim shadows of the end of day, with a mystery hovering over it, it assumed in his eyes a weird and sinister appearance. The gables and chimneys were silhouetted crisply against the translucent tones of the ever-darkening sky. Don’s eyes roved over the windows, each a dull and lifeless patch of dark. Everything gave the impression of utter desolation.
“I don’t believe the mysterious peasant can be around just now,” he murmured. “And I reckon Bobby’s idea in regard to Jason Hamlin is altogether wrong.”
Skirting around the old oaks, the two reached an open stretch. However, there were masses of shrubbery beyond, affording excellent places of concealment; so, after a moment’s reflection, Don and Bobby continued straight along, and presently found themselves in the midst of the dense shadows not far from the entrance to the house.
A few minutes passed, and Don began to feel that such a vigil around a deserted house had in it something of the absurd and ridiculous.
“Bobby——” he began.
“Sh-h-h-h!” whispered Bobby.
Then silence between the two ensued.
And in all probability it would have remained unbroken for some time but for the sound of human voices suddenly coming from the house. They were raised, as though the speakers had become engaged in a heated argument.