Black Will quietly tightened his belt, brought his rifle to a “right shoulder shift,” and was off at a long, slinging pace which carried him rapidly across the field.
“Thar goes a pizen critter, Miss Sadie,” muttered Cooney Joe. “Now I reckon he meant jest what he said when he told me that he’d hev my life, but I’ve took a good many chances, though he’ll hev my ha’r sartin ef I don’t shoot first when we meet.”
“I am sorry to have brought you into danger, Joe,” said the girl.
“Sorry—danger—git out! D’ye think I keer fur that, little gal? Why, make it the wust ye kin, the chances ar’ I git a shot afore he does, an’ ef I miss, then it’s my own fault. Whar’s yer daddy?”
“I came out to find him and bring him some drink. I thought he was at work in this field.”
“He orter be keerful,” said Joe Bent, uneasily, “’cause the Injins are gitting r’iled up awful, and thar’s no tellin’ when they may break out. Let’s try an’ find him.”
“There he is now,” cried Sadie.
As she spoke, a middle-aged man, with a hoe across his shoulder, appeared at the other side of the woods and came rapidly toward them. As he came near he shouted cheerily to Joe Bent, who seemed very glad to see him, and they shook hands heartily. Mr. Wescott had the same air of gentility which showed itself in his daughter, but, like her, had adapted himself to his present surroundings, and looked the picture of a genuine western farmer. In stature he was almost a giant.
Sadie rapidly recounted her meeting with Black Will, and all that had passed between them, and the face of Mr. Wescott darkened, while his hand closed convulsively upon the handle of his hoe.
“It is a lucky thing for the black-hearted scoundrel that I was not by, Sadie,” he said, “or it would have gone hard with him. What brings you up this way, Joe?”