"You nasty, sneaking son of Satan!" she cried. "Why are you hiding
there? You made me lose the one I wanted most of any I've had a chance
at yet. Get out of here! Go this minute, or I'll fill your worthless
carcass so full of holes you'll do to sift cornmeal. Go, I say! I'm
using the Limberlost to-night, and I won't be stopped by the devil
himself! Cut like fury, and tell the rest of them they can just go home.
Pete is going to help me, and he is all of you I need. Now go!"

The man turned and went. Pete leaned against a tree, held his mouth shut
and shook inwardly. Mrs. Comstock came back panting.

"The old scoundrel made me lose that!" she said. "If any one else comes
snooping around here I'll just blow them up to start with. I haven't
time to talk. Suppose that had been yellow! I'd have killed that man,
sure! The Limberlost isn't safe to-night, and the sooner those whelps
find it out, the better it will be for them."

Pete stopped laughing to look at her. He saw that she was speaking the
truth. She was quite past reason, sense, or fear. The soft night air
stirred the wet hair around her temples, the flickering lanterns made
her face a ghastly green. She would stop at nothing, that was evident.
Pete suddenly began catching moths with exemplary industry. In putting
one into the bag, another escaped.

"We must not try that again," said Mrs. Comstock. "Now, what will we
do?"

"We are close to the old case," said Pete. "I think I can get into it.
Maybe we could slip the rest in there."