. Nobody will be the wiser. Curse your whining!
Shut up! Damn you, get back in there! Don't give me away to Davy, and
I'll swear to help you out of this."

A minute or two later, he dragged her back into the cabin,
moaning, pleading, and crying from the pain of a sudden blow. Ten
minutes afterward he went forth again, this time ostensibly to meet Sam;
but Rosalie knew that he was gone forever.

CHAPTER XXI

The Trap-Door

A sickly new moon threw vague ghostly beams across the willow-lined
swamp, out beyond the little cabin that stood on its border. Through the
dense undergrowth and high among the skeleton treetops ugly shadows
played with each other, while a sepulchral orchestra of wind and bough
shrieked a dirge that flattened in Bonner's ears; but it was not the
weird music of the swamp that sent the shudder of actual terror through
the frame of the big athlete.

A series of muffled, heartbreaking moans, like those of a woman in dire
pain, came to his ears. He felt the cold perspiration start over his
body. His nerves grew tense with trepidation, his eyes wide with horror.
Instinctively, his fingers clutched the revolver at his side and his
gaze went toward the black, square thing which marked the presence of
the haunted house. The orchestra of the night seemed to bring its dirge
to a close; a chill interlude of silence ensued. The moans died away
into choking sobs, and Bonner's ears could hear nothing else. A sudden
thought striking him, he rolled out of his bed and made his way to Bud's
pile of blankets. But the solution was not there. The lad was sound
asleep and no sound issued from his lips. The moans came from another
source, human or otherwise, out there in the crinkling night.

Carefully making his way from the tent, his courage once more restored
but his flesh still quivering, Bonner looked intently for manifestations
in the black home of Johanna Rank. He half expected to see a ghostly
light flit past a window. It was intensely dark in the thicket, but the
shadowy marsh beyond silhouetted the house into a black relief. He was
on all fours behind a thick pile of brush, nervously drawing his pipe
from his pocket, conscious that he needed it to steady his nerves, when
a fresh sound, rising above the faint sobs, reached his ears. Then the
low voice of a man came from some place in the darkness, and these words
rang out distinctly:

"Damn you!"

He drew back involuntarily, for the voice seemed to