truth out of the conversation he had overheard. "Night of the storm,"
"play ghost," were enough. So Jeems had been the ghost. And the swamper
knew a secret way into the house!

"Wait," Ricky's lips formed the words by his ear as Val stirred
restlessly. "Someone else is coming."

"I don't like the set-up in town," Red was saying peevishly. "That
smooth mouthpiece is asking too darn many questions. He's always asking
Simpson about things in the past. If you hadn't got Sim that family
history to study, he'd been behind bars a dozen times by now."

"And he had better study it," commented the other dryly, "because he is
going to be word perfect before the case comes to court, if it ever
does. There are not going to be any slip-ups in this deal."

"'Nother thing I don't like," broke in the other, "is this Waverly guy.
I don't like his face."

"No? Well, doubtless he would change it if you asked him to. And I do
not think it is wise of you to be too critical of plans which were made
by deeper thinkers than yourself. Sometimes, Red, you weary me."

There was no reply to that harsh judgment. And now Val could hear what
Ricky had heard earlier--a faint swish as of a paddle through water.
Again Ricky's lips shaped words he could barely hear.

"Spur of bayou runs along here in back. Someone coming up from there."

"Jeems?"

"Maybe."

"We'd better--" Val motioned toward the front of the cabin. Ricky shook
her head. Jeems was to be allowed to meet the intruders unwarned.

"This swamper may be tough," ventured Red.

"We've met hard cases before," answered the other significantly.

Red moved again, as if flexing his muscles.

"One boy, and a small one at that, shouldn't force you to undergo all
that preparation," goaded the Boss.

Ricky must get away at once, her brother decided. Stubbornness or no
stubbornness, she must go this time. Why he didn't think of going
himself Val never afterwards knew. Perhaps he possessed a spark of the
family love of danger, after all, but mostly he clung to his perch
because of that last threat. Whoever Jeems was or whatever he had done,
he was one and alone. And he might relish another player on his side.
But Ricky must go.

He said as much in a fierce whisper, only to have her grin recklessly
back at him. In pantomime she gestured that he might try to make her.
Val decided that he should have known the result of his efforts. Ricky
was a Ralestone, too. And short of throwing her off t