CHAPTER XXII.
A PRISONER IN A HOLLOW TREE.
For several minutes we stood still, listening intently and watching with strained eyes the hut before us.
"I don't see a thing," whispered Oliver presently.
"Somebody is inside—I saw him move," returned Dan. "I don't believe, though, that it is Ramon Delverez."
"I'm going to make a detour," I put in. "I think I can see better from the other side."
Without waiting to hear what my chums might have to say on the point, I began to move along with caution, making a semicircle in the heavy brush. The task was no light one, and more than once I was compelled to halt in order to catch my breath. This may seem strange to those who have never wormed through a thick undergrowth, but to those who have done so it will be perfectly plain that the task was all I have represented it to be.
Quarter of an hour after I had started I calculated that I had covered one-half of the pro-
