The King's Arrow Part 39

"I don't know. She was gone when we got to the lodge. It must have been the devil that killed Seth an' carried off the girl."

"Nonsense," Dane impatiently chided. "Don't be such a fool as to believe that."

"But if you'd seen the marks upon Seth's throat, you'd say it was the work of the devil, an' no human bein'. An' there are others who think the same, too."

"What happened after that?"

"The gang came, an' they chased Injun Sam. But they made a mess of that job, an' got scared 'most to death."

"What did they chase Sam for?"

"Oh, some thought that he was the one who killed Seth an' carried off the girl. He had been seen hangin' around, an' so he was suspected.

But it wasn't Sam, I tell ye. It was the devil, an' they found that out to their sorrow."

"In what way?"

"They were campin' one night in the woods when in a twinklin' they were all knocked senseless. When they came to, their guns, grub, an'

everything else was gone. Now, if the Injuns had done it, they wouldn't have left one of the gang alive. They were 'most scared to death, so they are certain now that it was the devil."

"So you haven't heard anything more about the Colonel's daughter?" Dane queried.

"Nuthin'."

All this was valuable news to Dane, and it filled him with a great hope. He was not superst.i.tious, so the idea of the devil did not affect him in the least. It was Sam, no doubt, who had rescued Jean, and was taking good care of her. His heart now was lighter than it had been since her capture. But where was Sam? He must find him as soon as possible. He knew where he generally camped, so he determined to go there at once.

In his excitement he had forgotten, however, about the slashers who had recently left the cabin. But his mind reverted to them as he looked at the helpless, suffering creature before him.

"Where are the slashers going?" he asked.

"Against the mast-cutters," was the reply. "They have been plannin'

this fer some time, an' are expectin' to meet the men from the north to-morrow. I hope to G.o.d they'll git the surprise of their lives.

They're devils, that's what they are, an' I hope the mast-cutters'll kill every d.a.m.n one of them. Look what they've done to me an' Tom."

"When are they planning to attack the mast-cutters?"

"Sometime to-morrow night. They're plannin' to murder every one of them. An' they'll do it fer sure, the devils, unless the mast-cutters are warned."

This Dane realised was only too true, and the blood surged madly through his veins. He must reach the camp first and warn the men of their danger. And he would lead them against the slashers, for nothing would give him greater satisfaction than to surprise and confound those skulking rebels. His heart turned toward Jean, and he longed to go in search of her. But now, as when standing near that line drawn in the sand, duty came first. He felt that Jean was safe, but the lives of the King's men were at stake, so there must be no hesitation on his part. But what was he to do with the injured man? That he was in a critical condition, he was well aware, but how bad he did not know. It was getting dark now, and he could not delay much longer.

"When did the slashers leave here?" he asked.

"When?" Botreau repeated in a dazed manner. "I don't know when. But it seems an age."

"Then, I must get ahead of them, and warn the mast-cutters."

But the stricken man gave a pitiful cry, and reaching out, caught Dane feebly by the hand.

"Don't leave me," he pleaded. "I'm dyin', an' I'm afraid to die alone.

Oh, it's terrible here, an' I'm gettin' so weak. I wonder what makes this room so dark. An' it's cold, too. Fix the fire, won't ye, an'

lay me near it."

Dane stooped and held the candle close to the man's face. He knew that he was dying, bleeding to death, for the floor was wet with blood.

There was nothing that he could do, and of no use would it be to attend to the fire. No earthly heat could now warm the body of the wretched man before him. All he could do was to watch and wait while the life slowly ebbed away.

For a few minutes silence reigned in the room, broken only by the dying man's laboured breathing. At length he slightly lifted his head and looked wildly around.

"Keep back!" he cried. "Don't touch me! I didn't steal the girl! I didn't, I say!"

"Hush, hush," Dane soothed, kneeling by his side and taking his hand in his. "I won't let anything touch you."

But nothing could comfort the unhappy man. He fought his imaginary foe, and pleaded to be saved.

"It's the devil that did it, I tell ye," he wailed. "Look, there's the marks of his fingers upon Seth. Don't let him get me, for G.o.d's sake, don't!"

Never before had Dane been in such an awkward predicament. It was hard to listen to the raving man when he could do nothing to help him. And all the time it was getting later, and he should be on his way to warn the King's men. He rose to his feet, stepped to the door, and looked out. It was blowing hard, and he knew that the storm was not far off.

He must get away before it burst.

A peculiar sound from the man on the floor caused him to hasten to his side. In an instant he saw that all was over, and that the earthly career of Bill Botreau was ended.

There was little now that Dane could do. He did not fancy the idea of leaving the bodies lying there uncovered, so going outside he cut and carried in a large armful of spruce boughs. These he spread carefully over the bodies.

"It is more than your own gang would do," he mused. "You were contemptible men, I know, but not as bad, perhaps, as those villains who left you here. They must be checked and paid back in double coin for all their devilish work, and I want to be on hand when payment is being made."

CHAPTER XXIX

SHELTERING ARMS

Having closed the cabin door, Dane stepped into his snow-shoes, slung his pack over his shoulders, and started forth after the slashers. He carried his gun in his hand that he might be ready for any emergency.

It was not hard to follow the trail, and the travelling much easier than when out upon the river. Although he moved rapidly forward, he was keenly alert to every sight and sound. How far the rebels would go without camping he had no idea. He knew that at times they travelled all night and slept by day. If they intended to do so now it would be necessary for him to exert every effort in order to overtake them. He was well aware that as a rule they did not travel fast, being too indolent and lazy, so in this lay his only hope of outstripping the villains.

His course lay through the heart of a large forest, straight overland, and north of where the Loyalists were encamped on the A-jem-sek. Up hill and down he sped, pausing not for an instant, with powerful swinging strides that would have tested even Pete's great endurance.

That he had been travelling since early morning, with the exception of his brief stay at the cabin, seemed to make no difference to him.

Davidson had made no mistake in choosing such a man as his chief ranger.

Hour after hour he sped onward through the silent, sombre forest. The wind increased in violence, and the trees swayed and creaked as the tempest tore through their branches. The storm was not far off, and might burst at any minute.

Reaching at length the summit of a hill, he paused to eat some of the cold meat and a piece of the bread Old Mammy had given him that morning. He was about to continue his journey when the report of a gun rang through the forest. The sound issued from valley below, reminding him that the slashers must be quite near. Cautiously now he moved down the hill, peering keenly ahead, not knowing what to expect next. In a few minutes a glimmer of light filtered among the trees, showing that the rebels were camped by a little brook which ran through the valley.

As he slowly advanced, the light became brighter, until presently a blazing camp-fire burst upon his eyes. Around this the slashers were ringed, jabbering and quarrelling in an excited manner. What they were saying Dane could not tell, but as he crept nearer, moving from tree to tree, he saw a human body lying in the snow a short distance from the fire. That it was one of the slashers he felt certain, and the explanation of the shot he had heard. He was not surprised at this, for he knew a great deal about the brutal and inhuman nature of these creatures. They disgusted him, and he was more determined than ever to round them up and put an end to their lawless career. There before him was almost the last of the gang which for years had proven such a menace to the country, and interfered with the King's mast-cutters.

That this was a final desperate effort on their part he was sure. He was very glad to be on hand to confound them in their undertaking.

Leaving the slashers to their own devices, he doubled back upon the trail for a short distance, plunged off into the deep snow, encircled the camp, and at length came upon the trail farther ahead. He travelled slower now, as there was no special hurry. He believed that the slashers would remain in the valley for some time, and perhaps wait for dawn before continuing their march.

After awhile he came to the valley where stood the cabin from which he had fled several years before. He knew every foot of the place, for here he had often come with his mother. This was her favorite walk, and he recalled how fond she was of watching him as he played among the trees and by the little brook. He understood now something of what it must have meant to such a woman to live for years in the wilderness, cut off from all social life of which she had been so fond, and meeting no one of her own s.e.x except the few Indian women who occasionally visited the house.

A strong feeling of resentment rose up in Dane's heart against his father who had submitted so n.o.ble a woman to such a living death. It had not been his intention to go near the house from which he had been driven. But now a great longing came upon him to descend the valley and view the building at close quarters. Was his father sitting alone there? he wondered, and did he ever think with any degree of fondness of his outcast son?