"The devil!" faintly ejaculated Lander, rubbing his eyes in the darkness.
"No, men. On the stairs," softly whispered Papa.
"Tilton?" whispered Lander, fumbling round and securing his rifle and slipping on his belt, powder-horn and other hunting accouterments.
"No such luck. Men sent by him. Men he will wash his hands of if they blunder. They're working for blood-money. Stand here with me behind the door."
They leaned against the wall and listened. Till now Lander had heard nothing. With his ear to the wall he fancied he caught the sound of soft footsteps stealing to the door. Papa Clair caught him by the ear and dragged down his head and murmured:
"There are twelve or more—only six apiece. I hear some still coming up the stairs. When they come in keep behind me. We must get into the hall and put out the light."
"We can go down the back way."
"Much better. I see your head is clear. They will be sure to have men posted at the bottom of the front stairs. Now be ready."
An audible shuffling outside the door heralded
