that!" The man led the way up the trail, followed by High Light Hank, and Connie grinned to himself as he watched them disappear: "Early in the morning is right, old hand. You sure know where yours is coming from—but you don't know when!"
With an eye upon McCarty who was busy with the boat, the boy removed his boots and, stealthily as an Indian, followed Cosgrieve and High Light Hank up the trail. "I'm in a pretty fix, now," he soliloquized; "I can't signal Dan, and the chances are, I can't make the trail to Cameron Creek without being seen from the cache." He remembered the long rifle-slits that covered the heads of the two trails. "Anyway they can't shoot—they didn't pack guns, and those in the cache—Gee! Won't they be sore! Just the same, I wish they hadn't happened along so soon." A half-hour later, the boy watched from the edge of the timber while Bill Cosgrieve and High Light crossed the short open space and entered the cache. And then, the very smallness of the cabin made for the rum smugglers' undoing, for when they entered, they closed the door behind them to make room. Like a flash, a small figure
