“We thought it was some one who wanted to hem us in on the trail, and so took to the brook,” the young scout explained, “and here we are, three or four miles out of our way.”
“Well, ye better stay until mornin’,” Joe said. “You are both welcome to our shelter an’ fodder, such as it is. Ain’t that so, Late?”
“I reckon,” his camp-mate replied, “an’ if we don’t turn in soon, mornin’ will be here ’fore we get a wink of sleep.”
“I leave it to you, Master Preston,” Ira said. “Shall we go on, or stay?”
“Go on,” he answered. “I must reach my destination before light, if it is possible.”
“Very well,” his guide replied, stooping to pick up the big boots he had thrown down upon reaching camp.
The courier bent over for the same purpose, but before he could recover himself, Late and Joe seized and threw him to the ground. Ira came to their aid, and in a few moments the man was bound and disarmed.
“What does this mean?” he demanded with an ugly glance at the young scout.
“That I want the papers you carry,” Ira replied quietly.
“Find them then,” he retorted with a grin.