Then the party entered the house and the door was closed.
For a few minutes Bert remained perfectly motionless. There had been no
barking of dogs, and, after listening intently, he became convinced that
no living thing was out of doors in the vicinity of the shack. With
infinite caution he wormed his way along the ground and, reaching a
window in the rear of the house, drew himself to the sill and peered over
the edge.
There were six men gathered about a table in the center of the room, upon
which a seventh, who seemed to be the cook, was placing dishes of bacon
and beans. The chief, whose arm had been bathed and rebound in a cotton
bandage, was seated at the head of the table. A bottle of whiskey was
passing from hand to hand as a preliminary to the more substantial part
of the meal, and the men who had just arrived were evidently retailing
to their fellow rascals the events that had led up to the shooting.
So engrossed was Bert in watching the outlaws, that he did not see or
hear the approach of a dark figure stealing up behind him. An arm shot
out and a pistol butt came down on his head with a crash.
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