"
Slowly the log floated on, vanishing in the darkness. No other alarm
greeted its progress, and at last, confident that they were already
safely below the extent of the guard lines, the two men, clinging to
its wet sides, ventured to kick out quietly, and thus hasten its
progress. It came ashore at the extreme end of the curve, and, after a
moment of intent listening, the voyagers crept up the sand, and in
whispers discussed the next effort of their escape. The belts were
unstrapped from about the log, reloaded with cartridges, and buckled
around dripping waists before they clambered cautiously up the low
bank. The road was just beyond, but between them and it arose the
almost shapeless form of a small house, a mere darker shadow in the
gloom of the night.
"Where are we?" questioned Westcott.
"Just back of old Beecher's shack. He's trucking down Benson way, but
is liable to have some grub stored inside. I was countin' on this for
our commissary department. Come on, Jim; time is money just now."
The door was unlocked, and they trusted wholly to the sense of touch to
locate the object of their search.
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