In a little time he entered a glade
in the woods, to find himself standing in near proximity to a low log
cabin, through a narrow window of which a light glimmered.
"Some one lives here, it seems."
Dyke Darrel moved forward cautiously, for he still believed that the
wood was the haunt of outlaws, and this very house might be the den
where the plunder of many raids was secreted.
Soon the detective stood on a little rise of ground, in such a
position that he could peer into the window. The interior of a small,
poorly-furnished apartment met his gaze. Beside the glowing embers of
a wood fire in a box stove crouched a human figure, seemingly the only
occupant of the lone log cabin.
There was a wealth of golden hair flashing in the firelight, and the
black robe covered the form of what seemed to be a beautiful woman.
As may be supposed, the detective was surprised at the sight. After a
moment of reflection he resolved to enter the cabin.
Striding to the door, he rapped gently. No answer came, and the
detective rapped again. This time the door was cautiously opened, and
a white face peered out.
"Who's there?"
"A traveler who has lost his way."
"You cannot come in.
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