He was standing close to one side of a
wooden building that fronted toward the wharf.
He sprang forward, and, just as he passed the corner of the edifice,
his head struck something heavy but yielding, which toppled over
sidewise with a grunt, and upon which Philip fell prone, forcing from
it a second grunt a little less vigorous than the first. 'Twas a human
body, that had come from the front of the house at the same instant in
which Philip had darted from along the side.
"Shall I choke him to assure silence?" Phil hurriedly asked himself,
and instinctively made to put his hands to the man's neck. But the
body under him began to wriggle, to kick out with its legs, and to lay
about with its hands.
"What the hell d'yuh mean?" it gasped. "Git off o' me!"
Philip scrambled promptly to his feet, having recognised the voice.
"I'll stake my life, it's Meadows!"
"Yes, it is, and who in the name of hellfire an' brimstone--?"
"Hush, Bill! Don't you know my voice? Let me help you up. There you
are. I'm Philip Winwood!"
"Why, so y'are, boy! Excuse the way I spoke. But what on airth--?"
"No matter what I'm doing here. The thing is to get back to camp.
Come! Is the wharf a safe place for me?"
"Yes, at this hour of a dark night. But I'd like to know--"
"Keep with me, then," whispered Philip, and made for the wharf,
holding the old watchman's arm. "Show me where there's a small boat.
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