but not just
then. My pretence of having left at the wrong landing was a piece of
foolishness meant only to afford you and the agent a little amusement,
but I feared you would run into trouble with those criminals and I
decided to keep you under my eye. Until I concluded to trust you, it was
just as well that you should distrust me. For several reasons, which I
won't explain at this point, I came to the belief last night that it was
time we made common cause."

CHAPTER VI

A WARM RECEPTION

"I have me eye on the right place, as Father Mickle said whin he wint
into the saloon to pull out Jim Gerrigan by the nape of his neck."

Mike Murphy pointed to a small, faded yellow house which stood at the top
of a gentle slope on their right. It was a hundred yards from the river
and a faintly marked, winding path led from it down to the bank. The
surrounding land showed meagre cultivation, and the looks were anything
but inviting.

On the little porch sat a big man with grizzled whiskers, smoking a
brier-wood pipe, his beamlike legs crossed and his arms folded as he
moodily watched the launch.

"It strikes me as a poor promise," remarked Alvin, who, nevertheless,
asked Chester to steer to the shore to see whether a landing could be
readily made. The prospect was good, as a shaky framework had evidently
been placed there for use, though no small boat was near.

Chester brought the _Deerfoot_ alongside with the skill that the owner of
the launch would have shown. Alvin sprang lightly upon the structure,
which sagged under his weight, caught the rope tossed to him by Chester,
and fastened it around one of the rickety supports. The boat was made
fast.

"I'll walk up to the house and have a talk with the gintleman," said
Mike, stepping carefully out upon the boards. "Do I look hungry?" he
asked of Alvin, who replied:

"You always have that expression."

"I'm glad to hear it, fur I wish to impriss the gintleman that that's my
condition. I'll assoom a weak, hisitating walk. Do ye abide here aginst
me return and repoort."

Detective Calvert retained his seat and lighted another cigar. Chester
sat with his hand idly resting on the wheel. Alvin kept his place on the
tiny dock, and all three watched Mike Murphy. They smiled, for the
stooping shoulders of the Irish youth and his feeble gait were those of a
man of four-score. The huge stranger sat like a statue, slowly puffing
his pipe, his glowering eyes fixed on the a