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Updated: June 16, 2025
It is sufficient for the present to say that I have all the knowledge necessary to stretch your neck. You have now run the length of your wild career, and it shows you that it is impossible to escape justice here or anywhere else. But, there, I've wasted too much time talking to you, so get ready." "Oh, oh, don't burn me!" Curly shrieked, as Weston turned and spoke to Sconda. "Burn you?
Sconda must have been mistaken, for there was the villain walking cautiously from the shore. Intuitively Glen placed her hand to her heart, as if to stop its wild beating, while she tried to think of some way of escape. What should she do? Where could she go? she frantically asked herself. But she must not remain there, for she was well aware of the purpose of Curly's visit.
Then he gave a start, and peered keenly forward. His eyes had caught sight of something unusual. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to the left. Glen's eyes followed his outstretched arm, and presently she was enabled to detect a dark object upon the water. "It's only a stick, isn't it, Sconda?" "No; it's a raft," was the reply. "There's something on it." "Oh; maybe it's daddy!"
Glen knew that he was the finest trailsman in the north, and she felt more satisfied as she watched him, rifle in hand, disappear amid the trees. For some time she stood at the window, straining her eyes to see Sconda reappear and cross the wild meadow. But she watched in vain, for the native had taken another route, which, though rougher, was less exposed to view.
"Anything wrong?" Weston spoke in the Indian language, with which he was most familiar. "Big White Chief," Sconda began, "the Golden Crest has been crossed. Another white man is here." "I know it," was the curt reply. "He came by water this time, so I understand." "Not by water, Big White Chief, but through the pass, over Crooked Trail." "He did! Why, Glen, you told me he came by way of the lake.
But I guess I will wait until Sconda comes back. And then, remember, if my father and Mr. Reynolds are dead, you die, and at my hands at that. You can remain just where you are, and I shall guard you, even if I have to wait here all day." "But I can't stand here," Curly whined. "Let me sit down." "No, you must stay just where you are, and keep your hands clasped.
She watched from the window as Sconda conducted Curly down along the shore of the lake until they disappeared from view. In about a quarter of an hour Sconda returned. Glen met him at the door, and enquired anxiously about her father and Reynolds. She spoke in the Indian language, and this always pleased Sconda.
It seemed to them much longer than it really was before they saw him again, and this time he was standing upon a huge rock motioning with his arms. "Why, it's Sconda!" Weston exclaimed in amazement. "What does he want?" he asked, turning to Natsu, who all the time had remained perfectly silent. "'Come quick, Sconda say," was the reply. "Ask him what is the matter," Weston ordered.
"And you rode fast to tell me?" "Sconda come like the wind. Look," and he motioned to his weary horse. Glen was thoroughly aroused now. She was no longer the happy, free-from-care girl who had emerged from the house a few minutes before, but a woman stirred to a high pitch of anger, the same as when she faced Curly in front of the cabin by the lake.
It was all of considerable interest to him, and he beheld in this trading-place another tangible evidence of Jim Weston's influence. He spent the rest of the morning wandering about the village, and it was noon by the time he returned to the house, which for the present he called home. Here he found Sconda near the back door carefully examining a large bearskin.
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