Off to the north, the faint,
ghostly aura dimly silhouetted the trees. Far below, the jetty river
trembled here, there, with starlight.
They paused a moment to breathe, to shift straps that bound shoulders
not now hardened to such burdens. The Master glanced at the luminous
dial of his wrist-watch.
"Almost to the dot," he whispered. "Seventeen minutes to midnight. At
midnight, sharp, we take possession. Come!"
They trailed through a hard, rocky path among thick oak, pine,
and silver-birch. Now and then the little greenish-white light
will-o'-the-wisped ahead, flickering hither, yon. No one spoke a word.
Every footstep had to be laid down with care. After three minutes'
progress, the Master stopped, turned, held up his hand.
"Absolute silence, now," he breathed. "The outer guards are now within
an eighth of a mile."
They moved forward again. The light was no longer shown, but the
Master confidently knew the way. Bohannan felt a certain familiarity
with the terrain, which he had carefully studied on the large-scale
map he and the Master had used in planning the attack; but the
Master's intimate knowledge was not his. After two and one-half
minutes, the leader stopped again, and gestured at heavy fern-brakes
that could just be distinguished as black blotches in the dark of the
woods.
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