not so cautiously as to prevent my feet from crushing a
fragment of decayed wood, that lay in my path.

"A bustle within, and the sudden opening of the door
announced that the noise had been overheard. I held up
my finger impressively to Sambo, and we both remained
motionless.

"'Who the hell's there?' shouted Desborough, and the
voice rang like the blast of a speaking trumpet along
the skirt of the forest.

"'Some raccoon looking out for Hartley's chickens, I
expect,' said his companion, after a short pause. 'There's
nothin' human I reckon, to be seen movin' at this hour
of the night.'

"'Who the hell's there?' repeated Desborough--still no
answer.

"Again the door was closed, and under cover of the slight
noise made by the settler in doing this, and resuming
his seat, Sambo and I accomplished the circuit of the
hut. Here we had an unobstructed view of the persons of
both. A small store room or pantry communicated with that
in which they were sitting at a table, on which was a
large flagon, we knew to contain whiskey, and a couple
of japanned drinking cups, from which, ever and anon,
they "wetted their whistles," as they termed it, and
whetted their discourse. As they sat each with his back