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"That's him, s'help me the good Gawd!" came from Hank in a whispering cry half choked, his hand going automatically toward the hunting knife in his belt. "And he's coming! He's coming!" he added, with an irrational laugh of horror, as the sounds of heavy footsteps crunching over the snow became distinctly audible, approaching through the blackness towards the circle of light.
The long hours passed slowly, and Colin stirred and muttered in his dreams, but still he slept on through all the wild tumult of the night, his head pillowed against Hank and the old whaler's arm around him. He wakened suddenly, with a whistling, roaring sound ringing in his ears.
"It's go ahead now; we've gone too far to draw back." "That's the line of talk," grinned Bill, "and when we've each got fifty dollars in our pockets, silenced Hank with a golden gag and had our revenge on those kids, we'll be able to talk over future plans. I'm sick of school. I hate the idea of going back there. I've half a mind to strike out for the West anyway."
Thereupon the younger lad gave the particulars of the incident. Hank listened attentively, and when he learned of the part played by Motoza, the vagrant Sioux, his interest deepened. "So that scamp is in the mountains? I s'pected it; he claimed to have shot the buck and wouldn't divide till Jack took a hand. Why did you let him have any of it?" "Because he had the right.
They were in darkness now, for the cowboy had ceased shooting, and those who had come to attack had likewise allowed their weapons to become silent. As a matter of fact, Hank Selby had only fired in the air, if possible to frighten off the Indians, and it seemed that the redmen had done the same, since there was no whine of bullets over the head of the guide.
So Hal Dozier had the three wounded men taken back to the cabin of Hank Rainer. The stove was piled with wood until the top was white hot, and then the posse sat about on the floor, crowding the room and waiting for the dawn. The three wounded men were made as comfortable as possible.
"Ps-st! Captain!" "Masters!" "You got my short-wave call, I see. I was afraid you would be asleep. He came late, but he's in the tunnel now." "Who is it?" "The fellow we've suspected all along. Poses as an ignorant laborer, but he's not ignorant by a long shot. His name is Hank Norden." Masters pointed toward a clump of bushes. As he did, he caught the captain's arm with his left hand.
And then Marks trots up the child, and that young one hollers: "Papa! papa!" and tackles Hank around the legs. And I'm blessed if Montague don't slap his hand to his forehead, and toss back his curls, and look up at the sky, and sing out: "My wife and babe! Restored to me after all these years! The heavens be thanked!" Well, 'twas a sacred sort of time.
"Say, Hank! Who are the damsels?" The answer came back through the fog: "People from the East looking for a runaway. Old gent, pretty daughter, and pretty daughter's prettier cousin. Heard the orders?" "Damn the orders! They don't touch us. Where do they come from?" "D'rect from Washington, they say. Three regiments to sail at once, and " "Oh, I know all that!" shouted Gordon impatiently.
That sounded very well, to himself, but to Hank Graves, for some reason, it seemed very funny. When Thurston told him, Hank was taken with a fit of strangling that turned his face a dark purple. Afterward he explained brokenly that something had got down his Sunday throat and Thurston, who had never heard of a man's Sunday throat, eyed him with suspicion.
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