Gus nodded slowly. It was a well-told yarn, a plausible lie. In a good cause could he not take a turn at that?
“By cracky, you’re dead right t’ make ’em mind their own bizness! It’s your bizness, ain’t it? I’d serve ’em that-away, too. I’ll bluff ’em, an’ shoot, too, if I got t’. Where’s these other two standin’?”
The man indicated a spot to the left, another beyond the cabin, and his own position toward the beach. They probably stood on sentry duty most of the time. Gus was given the most dangerous place, the one most likely to be the way of approach. Well, he’d better act, and quickly, if he didn’t want the officers of the law to step in ahead and spoil his own plans.
Gus waited until he felt sure the men had taken their places again. Then he contrived a neat bit of strategy that was almost too simple. He meant to get a peep in yonder building, or hut, as the elder Malatesta had called it, and he meant to do this at once. Rapidly and silently he sneaked through the woods until he stood close behind the American gunman who sat drowsily on a log, his gun across his knees.
“Say, bo, get next. They’s a couple o’ men sneakin’ through the woods round beyon’ you. They ain’t comin’ my way. Lay low an’ watch ’em.” The man crouched.
Gus crept back and then out toward the beach where, by sheer good luck, he came across both Malatesta brothers talking. When they were still at a little distance from him he told them the same story and instantly the elder was on his guard while the younger brother left, crouching as he progressed toward his station. Gus, also crouching, went back quickly.
The boy felt sure that these fellows were armed and that they would remain fixed for a very considerable time—all of them well out of sight of the building. Cautiously at first, then almost running, Gus followed the path right up to the door of what was really a stout log cabin, the one window barred with heavy oaken slats, recently nailed on, and the door padlocked. Gus went straight to the window, thrust aside a bit of bagging that served for a curtain and peered within. Speaking hardly above a whisper, he said:
“Hello, in here! Who are you? Is it Tony Sabaste?”