Jeems moaned and turned his head as
if to get away from her ministrations.
"Where's Rupert--and Sam?" Val looked toward the path. "They were with
you, weren't they?"
Ricky shook her head. "No. That was just what you call creating a
diversion. For all I know, they're busy at home."
Her brother straightened. "Then we've got to get out of here--fast.
Those two left because they were rattled, but when they have had a
chance to cool off they'll be back."
"What about Jeems?"
"Take him with us, of course. We won't be able to manage the canoe. But
you brought the outboard, so we'll go in that and tow the canoe. We
ought to have something to cover his head." Val regarded the bleeding
wound doubtfully.
Without answering, Ricky leaned forward and began systematically going
through Jeems' pockets. In the second she found a key. Val took it from
her and hobbled up the cabin steps. For a wonder, he thought thankfully,
the key was the right one. The lock clicked and he went in.
Like the clearing, the interior of the one-room shack was neat, a place
for everything and everything in its place. Under the window in the far
wall was a small chest of some dark polished wood. Save for its size, it
was not unlike the chests the Ralestones had found in their store-room.
Opposite it was a wooden cot, the covers smoothly spread. A stool, a
blackened cook stove, and a solid table with an oil lamp were the extent
of the furnishings.
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