Green Fancy

"I haven't the remotest idea."

"About a quarter of a mile below Curtis's house. Are you all right?"

"Fine as a fiddle, except for a barked knee, a skinned elbow, a couple of more or less busted ribs, something on my cheek that runs hot,-- yes, I'm all right."

"Pretty tough going," said Sprouse, sympathetically.

"I've banged into more trees than--"

"Sh!" After a moment of silence, intensified by the mournful squawk of night-birds and the chorus of katydids, Sprouse whispered: "Did you hear that?"

Barnes thrilled. This was real melodrama. "Hear what?" he whispered shrilly.

"Listen!" After a second or two: "There!"

"It's a woodpecker hammering on the limb of a--"

"Woodpeckers don't hammer at midnight, my lad. Don't stir! Keep your ears open."

"You bet they're open all right," whispered Barnes, his nerves aquiver.

Suddenly the sharp tattoo sounded so close to the spot where they were standing that Barnes caught his breath and with difficulty suppressed an exclamation. It was like the irregular rattle of sticks on the rim of a snare-drum. The tapping ceased and a moment later a similar sound, barely audible, came out of the distance.

Sprouse clutched his companion's arm and, dropping to his knees in the thick underbrush, pulled the other down after him.

Presently heavy footsteps approached. An unseen pedestrian passed within ten yards of them. They scarcely breathed until the sounds passed entirely out of hearing. Sprouse put his lips close to Barnes's ear.

"Telegraph," he whispered. "It's a system they have of reporting to each other. There are two men patrolling the grounds near the house. You see what we're up against, Barnes. Do you still want to go on with it? If you are going to funk it, say so, and I'll go alone."

"I'll stay by you," replied Barnes sturdily.

"In about ten minutes that fellow will come back this way. He follows the little path that winds down--but never mind. Stay where you are, and don't make a sound, no matter what happens. Understand? No matter what happens!" He arose and swiftly, noiselessly, stole away from his companion's side. Barnes, his eyes accustomed to the night, either saw or imagined that he saw, the shadowy hulk press forward for a dozen paces and then apparently dissolve in black air.

Several minutes went by. There was not a sound save the restless patter of rain in the tree tops. At last the faraway thud of footsteps came to the ears of the tense listener. They drew nearer, louder, and once more seemed to be approaching the very spot where he crouched. He had the uncanny feeling that in a moment or two more the foot of the sentinel would come in contact with his rigid body, and that he would not have the power to suppress the yell of dismay that-Then came the sound of a dull, heavy blow, a hoarse gasp, a momentary commotion in the shrubbery, and--again silence. Barnes's blood ran cold. He waited for the next footfall of the passing man. It never came.