onstituted the dangerous zone, to borrow
a ballistic term: in fact, one or more bullets fired from behind the
palisade might knock over any one who ventured on to this zone. Gideon
Spilett and the sailor were not men to draw back, but they knew that
any imprudence on their part, of which they would be the first victims,
would fall afterwards on their companions. If they themselves were
killed, what would become of Harding, Neb, and Herbert?

But Pencroft, excited at feeling himself so near the corral where he
supposed the convicts had taken refuge, was about to press forward, when
the reporter held him back with a grasp of iron.

"In a few minutes it will be quite dark," whispered Spilett in the
sailor's ear, "then will be the time to act."

Pencroft, convulsively clasping the butt-end of his gun, restrained his
energies, and waited, swearing to himself.

Soon the last of the twilight faded away. Darkness, which seemed as if
it issued from the dense forest, covered the clearing. Mount Franklin
rose like an enormous screen before the western horizon, and night
spread rapidly over all, as it does in regions of low latitudes. Now was
the time.

The reporter and Pencroft, since posting themselves on the edge of the
wood, had not once lost sight of the palisade. The corral appeared to
be absolutely deserted. The top of the palisade formed a line, a
little darker than the surrounding shadow, and nothing disturbed its
distinctness. Nevertheless, if the convicts were there, they must have
posted one of their number to guard against any surprise.

Spilett grasped his companion's hand, and both crept towards the corral,
their guns ready to fire.

They reached the gate without the darkness being illuminated by a single
ray of light.

Pencroft tried to push open the gate, which, as the reporter and he had
supposed, was closed. However, the sailor was able to ascertain that the
outer bars had not been put up. It might, then, be concluded that the
convicts were there in the corral, and that very probably they had
fastened the gate in such a way that it could not be forced open.

Gideon Spilett and Pencroft listened.

Not a sound could be heard inside the palisade. The musmons and the
goats, sleeping no doubt in their huts, in no way disturbed the calm of
night.

The reporter and the sailor hearing nothing, asked themselves whether
they had not better scale the palisades and penetrate into the corral.
This would have bee