"
"Good."
"Let us go!"
"Wait. I'd like to see the curse roast."
"No, no; that won't do. We'll come in the day time and look at the
bones. This old log hut has had its day, and we could not put it to a
better use than to make a mausoleum for the man-tracker of the West."
There was no hesitating after this.
The two men moved swiftly away in the gloom that surrounded the
burning cabin.
A choking sensation caused the reclining man in the cabin to stir
uneasily.
Presently he opened his eyes.
The room was full of smoke, and red tongues of flame were licking at
the logs from every side.
Quickly Dyke Darrel came to his feet. A smell of burning garments
filled his nostrils. The bed on which Sibyl Osborne rested was on
fire!
"My soul! this is unfortunate," cried the detective. He was equal to
the emergency, however. Springing to the side of the still sleeping
girl, Dyke lifted her in his arms and strode to the door.
Quickly he slipped the rude bolt and grasped the latch. It refused to
yield.
The door was firmly secured on the outside.
CHAPTER XIII.
A SAD FATE.
For one instant, Dyke Darrel was paralyzed.
It was for a moment only, however.
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