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Let's see you do that." "All right. You'll see me. Just let me look at it a minute." Sam walked round the tree, studied its lean and the force of the wind on its top, rolled up his sleeves, slipped his suspenders, spat on his palms, and, standing to west of the tree, said "Ready." Yan had his watch out and shouted "Go."
"Yan Yost was summarily condemned to death, and his brother and gipsy-like mother, in wild alarm, hastened to the camp to plead for his life. Arnold for awhile was inexorable, but presently offered to pardon the culprit on condition that he should go and spread a panic in the camp of St. Leger.
Then Yan, who had an unfaltering grasp upon the necessities of each passing second, sprang agilely forward, swung the staff, and brought it so proficiently down upon Chou-hu's lowered head that the barber dropped lifeless to the ground and the weapon itself was shattered by the blow.
'YAN, stormed McKeith again, and, as Lady Bridget made a movement of sympathetic response towards the black fellow, he added sternly: 'You'll oblige me by not interfering in this business. The Blacks know that what I say, I mean, and I'll have no more words with them. Bridget stood quite still, her attitude and expression all indignant protest, but she said nothing.
During the night they were again awakened by the screech in the tree-tops, and Yan, sitting up, said, "Say, boys, that's nothing but that big Cat Owl." "So it is," was Sam's answer; "wonder I didn't think of that before." "I did," said Guy; "I knew it all the time." In the morning they went out to find their arrows.
"An artist," said Yan, wondering what this had to do with his dismissal. "Does an artist hev to be bang-up eddicated?" "They're all the better for it." "Av coorse, av coorse, that's what I tell Sam. It's eddication that counts. Does artists make much money?" "Yes, some of them. The successful ones sometimes make millions." "Millions? I guess not. Ain't you stretchin' it just a leetle?" "No, sir.
He could not help smiling, even in his misery, as he thought of the man to whom, six months before, he had sold the old Goree homestead. There had come from "back yan'" in the mountains two of the strangest creatures, a man named Pike Garvey and his wife.
When they came to the brush fence over the creek at the edge of the swamp, he said: "Sam, I want to blaze that trail for old Caleb. How do you do it?" "Spot the trees with the axe every few yards." "This way?" and Yan cut a tree in three places, so as to show three white spots or blazes.
At the sound of footsteps Yan turned, supposing that one of his companions had come back, but there instead was a big, rough-looking tramp. "Well, sonny, cookin' dinner? I'll be glad to j'ine ye," he said with an unpleasant and fawning smile. His manner was as repulsive as it could be, though he kept the form of politeness. "Where's your folks, sonny?"
The blazing fire in the teepee was cheering again. The boys perhaps did not realize that there was actually a tinge of homesickness in their mood, yet both were thinking of the comfortable circle at the house. The blazing fire smoked a little, and Sam said: "Kin you fix that to draw? You know more about it 'an me." Yan now forced himself to step outside. The wind was rising and had changed.
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