"He's gone!" she heard Phil cry from within. Came then the sound of excited voices, and presently the shaft of light from a kerosene lamp. Feet trampled in the cabin. Phyllis heard the cot being kicked over. This moment she chose for her entrance.
"What in the world is the matter?" she asked innocently, from the doorway.
"He's got away—we've been tricked!" Tom told her furiously.
"But—how?"
"Never mind, Phyl. Go back to your room. There may be trouble yet. By God, there will be if we find him, or his friends!" her father swore.
Another figure blocked the doorway. This time it was Keller, hatless and coatless, as if he had come quickly from a hurried waking. He, too, fired blandly the inevitable: "What's the trouble?"
"Nothing—except that we are a bunch of first-class locoed fools," snapped Tom. "We've lost our prisoner—that's what's the matter."
Larrabie came in and looked inquiringly from one to another. "I thought you kept him guarded."
"We did, but they drew Tom off on a false trail," explained Phil.
"I notice they worked the rest of us, too," retorted his father tartly.