HAZARD OF THE GAME
The newcomer had arrived without a sound. Evidently he had just
forded his way across the rapids. Water trickled in rivulets from
his legs and his clothing clung to his spare frame; but in spite of
wetness he still retained his well-groomed, debonnaire appearance.
He smiled appreciatively at the scene before him as he absently
thumbed the hammer of the rifle he held gripped in his hands.
"Is the party still on," he inquired, "or am I too late?"
He waited for a second or two, but as nobody had any reply to make,
he tilted up his weapon, and sauntered into the room. A trampling of
other feet sounded outside, and four other men drifted into view
through the morning mist and crowded across the threshold at their
leader's heels.
From Stark's dripping figure, Dexter's glance wandered to the
silhouetted shapes beyond, and he recognized Norbert Croix and
'Phonse Doucet, and Alison's brother, Archie. There was a fifth man
in the group, a thick-set individual with a scraggly red beard, whose
acquaintance he had not yet made. The clothing of the newcomers was
water-soaked. It was evident that they had just waded the rapids.
While the game was on in the cabin, the forking streams must have
fallen low enough to permit a crossing.
The intruders filed into the room, and the last one closed the door
behind him. Stark moved forward and laughed softly to himself.
"So you got out from under that tree," he remarked as he surveyed
Dexter. "I didn't think you had a chance on earth, but you fooled me
that trip. Anybody help you?"
Dexter faced the man with level eyes. "You left me my watch, and I
made a scoop of the lid and dug the ground from under my shoulder,"
he said. "I was able to get loose before morning."
"And afterwards met this girl here--Miss Rayne?"
"Met her in the woods, and arrested her," returned the corporal.
"Where'd you pick up Crill?" asked the other.
"Here on the island."
Stark grew silent for a space as he thoughtfully surveyed the group
before him. "Hum!" he mused at length: "it doesn't matter much how
it happened. We've returned to the status quo, as it were. I didn't
do a very good job of it the last time, but that's something easily
corrected."
The smile faded from the man's face, and he stood with feet apart,
fingering the lock of his rifle, measuring the officer with merciless
glance. "It would have been better for you if you'd let well enough
alone," he said. "You wouldn't have it to go through with again."
His head turned slightly as he spoke, and he nodded politely to
Alison. "Will you please stand aside, Miss Rayne?" he invited.
"Do as he says," counseled Dexter as the girl hesitated. He looked
at her for a moment with a gentle glance, and drew a faint, quivering
breath. "Go over by the bunk, please."
"Now!" said Stark crisply, as the girl moved away on stumbling feet.
"You're lucky this time," he pursued. "I'm in a hurry, and I'll make
it quick." His lips pressed together in a hard, narrow line, and he
cocked the hammer of his rifle, and started slowly and deliberately
to raise the muzzle.
Dexter's heels came instinctively together, and he drew up his spare
body, straight and unmoving, like a soldier at salute. He faced his
enemy quietly, his fine-drawn features set in unchanging, stoic lines.
Nobody in the room spoke or stirred, and the hush of death fell about
them. Stark leveled his rifle and lined his sights upon the erect
figure standing under the light of the guttering lantern. Grimly he
began to count: "One--two--"
He got no farther. A streak of red flame lashed past the corporal's
shoulder, and the stuffy silence of the room was jarred by a sharp,
cracking explosion. The barrel of Stark's rifle wavered in his
grasp, and a crimson bullet welt showed suddenly across the tanned
flesh above his cheek bone.
Shocked, wondering, Dexter whirled to stare behind him, and he saw
Alison Rayne crouching by the bunk, with a smoking revolver clenched
in her fist.