of Cragg's Ridge Jed Hawkins' cabin lay.

"We'll let her know tonight," Roger McKay said at last, with
something very slow and deliberate in his voice. "We'll take the
chance--and let her know."

Peter's bristling Airedale whiskers, standing out like a bunch of
broom splints about his face, quivered sympathetically, and he
thumped his tail in the sand. He was an artful hypocrite, was
Peter, because he always looked as if he understood, whether he
did or not. And Jolly Roger, staring at the gray rock-backs
outside their tunnel door, went on.

"We must play square with her, Pied-Bot, and it's a crime worse
than murder not to let her know the truth. If she wasn't a kid,
Peter! But she's that--just a kid--the sweetest, purest thing God
A'mighty ever made, and it isn't fair to live this lie any longer,
no matter how we love her. And we do love her, Peter."

Peter lay very quiet, watching the strange gray look that had
settled in Jolly Roger's face.

"I've got to tell her that I'm a damned highwayman," he added, in
a moment. "And she won't understand, Peter. She can't. But I'm
going to do it. I'm going to tell her--today. And then--I think
we'll be hittin' north pretty soon, Pied-Bot. If it wasn't for Jed
Hawkins--" He rose up out of the sand, his hands clenched.

"We ought to kill Jed Hawkins before we go. It would be safer for
her," he finished.