"Well, no, sir; we can't see much of anything, it's so dark. But
there's a good many of the post people up and moving about, excited, I
suppose. There were lights there at the lieutenant's, Mr. Blakely's, a
while ago, and--voices." No. 4 pointed to the dark gable end barely
forty yards away.
"That's simple enough," said Wren. "People would naturally come up to
this end to see what had become of us, why we had gone, etc. They
heard of it, I dare say, and some were probably startled."
"Yes, sir, it sounded like--somebody cryin'."
Wren was turning away. "What?" he suddenly asked.
No. 4 repeated his statement. Wren pondered a moment, started to
speak, to question further, but checked himself and trudged
thoughtfully away through the yielding sand. The nearest path led past
the first quarters, Blakely's, on the eastward side, and as the
captain neared the house he stopped short. Somewhere in the shadows of
the back porch low, murmuring voices were faintly audible. One, in
excited tone, was not that of a man, and as Wren stood, uncertain and
surprised, the rear door was quickly opened and against the faint
light from within two dark forms were projected. One, the taller, he
recognized beyond doubt as that of Neil Blakely; the other he did not
recognize at all. But he had heard the tone of the voice. He knew the
form to be, beyond doubt, that of a young and slender woman. Then
together the shadows disappeared within and the door was closed behind
them.