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I've got twenty-four hours, and more, to get this girl, and I'll do it!" "Bad move to have weight like her on a march," said Metzar. "Bah! The thing's easy. As for you, go on, push ahead after we're started. All I ask is that you stay by me until the time to cut loose." "I ain't agoin' to crawfish now," growled Metzar. "Strikes me, too, I'm losin' more'n you."
Not a minute elapsed before soft, rapid footsteps sounded in the distance. The bushes parted, disclosing the white, set face and gray eyes of Roger Brandt. With a light spring he cleared the brook and approached Metzar. Before speaking he glanced around the glade with the fugitive, distrustful glance of a man who suspects even the trees.
The Shawnees, who were in hiding with the horses over by Blueberry swamp, have been flushed by those bordermen. Some of them have escaped; at least one, for no one but Ashbow could shoot that arrow across the river." "Suppose he hadn't come?" whispered Metzar hoarsely. Brandt answered him with a dark, shuddering gaze. A twig snapped in the thicket.
Free now to run home, there to plan what course must be pursued, she conquered her fear and weakness, and hurried from the glade. Luckily, so far as she was able to tell, no one saw her return. She resolved that she would be cool, deliberate, clever, worthy of the borderman's confidence. First she tried to determine the purport of this interview between Brandt and Metzar.
Let's get out of here now, for some one may come at any moment." The plotters separated, Brandt going through the grove, and Metzar down the path by which he had come. Helen, trembling with horror of what she had heard, raised herself cautiously from the willows where she had lain, and watched the innkeeper's retreating figure. When it had disappeared she gave a little gasp of relief.
He told me of your suspicions, with the additional news that he'd found a fresh Indian trail on the island just across from the inn. We went down not expecting to find any one awake; but Metzar was hurriedly packing some of his traps. Half a dozen men were there, having probably stayed all night.
Jonathan thought of the bad name the place bore all over the frontier, and wondered if Metzar could tell anything about the horse-thieves. When the borderman bent his tall frame to enter the low-studded door he fancied he saw a dark figure disappear into a room just behind the bar. A roughly-clad, heavily-bearded man turned hastily at the same moment. "Hullo," he said gruffly.
"You won't be a loser if you can get back to Detroit with your scalp. I'll pay you in horses and gold. Once we reach Legget's place we're safe." "What's yer plan about gittin' the gal?" asked Metzar. Brandt leaned forward and spoke eagerly, but in a low tone. "Git away on hoss-back?" questioned Metzar, visibly brightening. "Wal, that's some sense. Kin ye trust ther other party?"
I'd like you to be within call." The borderman strolled down the bluff and along the path which overhung the river. He disliked Metzar more than his brother suspected, and with more weighty reason than that of selling rum to minors. Jonathan threw himself at length on the ground and mused over the situation. "We never had any peace in this settlement, an' never will in our day.
"We know what to expect," said Brandt in calmer tone as the daring cast of countenance returned to him. "There's an Indian for you! He got away, doubled like an old fox on his trail, and ran in here to give us a chance at escape. Now you know why Bing Legget can't be caught." "Let's dig at once," replied Metzar, with no show of returning courage such as characterized his companion.
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