A few moments later he paused behind a thick bush, with the structure right before him. He studied it earnestly. There were no sounds of life, although the cabin did not bear the appearance of a place deserted. True enough, the door was closed, one window boarded up, the sash of another down; but there seemed to be plenty of evidences of the recent presence of human beings.
“I suppose they’ve just gone away for a while,” mused Bob.
He waited for several minutes; then, straightening up, walked boldly across the gulch.
“I know it’s scarcely worth while to knock,” he thought, “but here goes—just for fun.”
The butt of his quirt came against the heavy door with force enough to send a series of sharp echoes throughout the narrow confines.
The Rambler laughed softly.
“That certainly made an awful racket,” he began.
Then, as though an electric shock had passed through him, the expression on his face changed to one of amazement.
The sound of a voice had come from within—and of a voice raised, as though in a cry for help.