Part 5 (1/2)
”Do you know where he lives?”
”Near about,” Bob answered. ”We won't have any trouble finding it.”
”It's a pity the sheriff can't take this duty from us,” the older man said. ”It's a pity we have no system of law that will spare women from unpleasant notoriety under such conditions. Men of the South would be less quick to take matters into their own hands if they were a.s.sured that the occasional women who may suffer would be spared the further suffering of public embarra.s.sment in open court.”
”Yes,” Bob a.s.sented, ”but this is our only way, so far. Shall we kill him?”
”My mind is still in solution as to that,” the Colonel gravely answered.
”It has not yet crystallized. If he were not the poor half-wit he is, we would by all means. Under the circ.u.mstances, I hardly think we have the right. Yet, after all is said, he may be just the sort who should be put out of harm's way. However, the most we will do will be to frighten him out of the country;--unless he stands his ground.”
”He'll doubtless do that, and open on us when we come in sight,” Bob suggested. ”Of course, he'll know what we're after.”
”I think it likely,” the Colonel replied. ”Let me caution you against unnecessary risks.”
Some two or three miles from Arden the dirt road sharply began its climb into the k.n.o.bs, and through this rough and wooded foothill country of the farther c.u.mberlands, scarred by cliffs and ravines, they rode in silence. At last Bob spoke.
”We're not far off. His shack is somewhere in here.”
They were riding at a quick walk, alert, watching up each ravine for signs of habitation, when suddenly a man, rifle in hand, stepped out two hundred yards ahead of them. A lightning touch of rein and spur, and both horses had sprung instantly apart, while the two repeaters flew with exact precision to the riders' shoulders. To their surprise, however, the man raised his hand.
”What do you make of this?” the Colonel asked in a cautious tone, when they had recognized Dale advancing, instead of the expected Potter.
”Squirrel hunting,” Bob answered. ”He told Zack.”
Dale came with the long stride peculiar to his people, the stride with which they cover thirty miles a day and think it no great walk.
”Good mawnin',” he called, in a drawling voice. ”There's no game in these parts.”
He advanced with perfect ease--the ease of a wild thing walking at will--and the smile that illumined his face made it almost handsome.
Absorbed even as the Colonel and Bob were in their own mission, and surprised by this unexpected interruption, they exchanged glances at his rather correct form of speech. Several times the evening before Colonel May had been impressed by this, and had thought of it after getting into bed, determining then to speak of it in the morning. So, recurring to him now, he said in an undertone:
”That fellow knows how to talk well.”
”He does, and he doesn't,” Bob replied. ”Jane and I were speaking of it last night. If you'll notice, when he gets excited, or much interested, he's like a typical mountaineer. Only when careful is it otherwise. He's a funny cuss, but, gee, Colonel, look at that power! I'll bet he can run a hundred miles without turning a hair!”
The figure was almost up to them.
”There isn't anything to shoot,” he said again, with a meaning smile of confidence.
”What are you hunting, sir?” the Colonel asked, after a polite exchange of greetings.
Dale looked at them and chuckled. It was a sign of comrades.h.i.+p, of fellows.h.i.+p; the sort of chuckle in which two boys might indulge if, having entered a jam closet from opposite sides and each unknown to the other, they suddenly meet face to face.
”I'm huntin' the same sort of game you-all air, I reckon,” he remarked, pus.h.i.+ng back his hat. ”But it's gone.”
”Squirrels?”
The mountaineer regarded them with something pathetic in his eyes, and when he spoke his voice was tinged with disappointment.