re, presently, the swampy cart-track turned to
the right among the trees.

"All right!" said Renoux briskly, dropping to the ground. He shook
hands with the two new arrivals, passed one arm under each of theirs,
and led them forward along a wet, ferny road toward a hardwood ridge.

Here Souchez and Alost, who lay full length on the dead leaves, got
up, to welcome the reinforcements, and to point out the disreputable
old brick building which stood close to the further edge of the woods,
rear end toward them, and fronting on a rutty crossroad beyond.

"Are we in time?" inquired Barres in a low voice.

"Plenty," said Renoux with a shrug. "They've been making a night of it
in there. They're at it yet. Listen!"

Even at that distance the sound of revelry was audible--shouts,
laughter, cheering, boisterous singing.

"Skeel is there," remarked Renoux, "and I fancy he's an anxious man.
They ought to have been out of that house before dawn to escape
observation, but I imagine Skeel has an unruly gang to deal with in
those reckless Irishmen."

Barres and Westmore peered out through the fringe of trees across the
somewhat desolate landscape beyond.

There were no houses to be seen. Here and there on the bogs were
stakes of swale-hay and a gaunt tree or two.

"That brick hotel," said Renoux, "is one of those places outside town
limits, where law is defied and license straddles the line. It's run
by McDermott, one of the two men aboard the power-boat."

"Where is their boat?" inquired Westmore.

Renoux turned and pointed to the southwest.

"Over there in a cove--about a mile south of us. If they leave the
tavern we can get to the boat first and block their road."

"We'll be between two fires then," observed Barres, "from the boat's
deck and from Skeel's gang."

Renoux nodded coolly:

"Two on the boat and five in the hotel make seven. We are five."

"Then we can hold them," said Westmore.

"That's all I want," rejoined Renoux briskly. "I just want to check
them and hold them until your Government can send its agents here. I
know I have no business to do this--probably I'll get into trouble.
But I can't sit still and twirl my thumbs while people blow up a canal
belonging to an ally of France, can I?"

"Hark!" motioned Barres. "They're singing! Poor devils. They're like
Cree Indians singing their death song."

"I suppose," said Westmore sombrely, "that deep in each man's heart
there remains a glimmer of hope tha