Garrett was furious, and while he was blaming heaven and earth at the ill success of his attack, a man whose face was flushed by a hard ride dashed through the swamp, and drew up before them.
“Now then, what is all this?” he cried. “I know you, Dick Garrett. You delight in a row so much that you are wasting my men in attacking a perfect fort.”
“But you don’t know who is in it, Will Jackwood,” replied Garrett. “Two men you hate—Cooney Joe and Captain Melton.”
“Ha, say you so? Then out of that they must come, by the Eternal! Keep back the men, for Black-Hawk will be here in half an hour with four hundred braves, and then we will overwhelm them. Captain Melton, eh? I always did detest that boy, Dick.”
“I don’t love him,” said Dick.
“What is this I hear about Sam Wescott?”
“Gone under, Will. I had to do it, for he recognized me in my disguise, and some one had to go.”
“I don’t care so much about that, if you did not compromise me. The man hated me, and while he lived there was no hope of winning the girl by fair means, and I always liked that way best. Where is the girl?”
“I left her on the edge of the swamp, with three of my best men.”
“All right; where is Tom Bantry? I want to send him somewhere.”