“Oh, bosh; she only had a bow and arrows and it took a strong man to harness Joel Davis. I’ll be cussed if I understand it at all. Say, Jack, did you see any thing of the Indian girl’s trail?”
“She went another way from the camp, on a run too. It must have been some awful looking critter that tackled Joel Davis, to skeer the girls so.”
“You are right,” said Garrett. “Now then, as Jack has worked hard and we want him to lead again to-morrow, Tracey will keep camp for two hours and the rest of you as you can agree, until morning. I’m going to have a snooze, myself.”
He wrapped himself in a blanket and threw himself down at the foot of a tree, while the rest in a discontented manner drew lots for the choice of the hours of watching. After this had been settled the lucky ones took their blankets and lay down, while Tracey lighted his pipe, moved out a short distance in the darkness and sat down to watch. The man was sullen, and had not yet got over his little brush with Garrett upon the fate of Tom Bantry, and he muttered to himself about the pride of rank which enabled Garrett to sleep, while he was forced to watch.
They built no fire, for it was a clear summer night and even the blankets were scarcely needed. Tracey’s pipe glowed through the night, showing those of his companions who yet slept, where he sat in the shadow. After a time the man began to doze, and did not see the dark figure that crawled slowly toward him until it stood erect against the trunk of the tree against which he was seated. A moment after, a long arm was stretched out and clutched his throat in so fell a clasp that it seemed to collapse beneath the pressure, and in a moment more he lay without a struggle or a groan supine beneath the tree.
The strange being who had done the work, bent over the insensible form and was busy about something for a short time, and then taking up the pipe which Tracey had dropped and which had not been extinguished, he sat down near the body of the fallen renegade and began to smoke, first picking up the cap of his victim and placing it upon his head, glancing now and then at the sleeping camp. When the pipe was smoked out he arose and stole softly to the side of Dick Garrett and looked down into his face.
The moonlight shone full upon him, and showed a horrible figure of gigantic mold, covered from head to foot with a hairy substance, while the eyes looked fiercely from his shaggy eyebrows upon the sleeping ruffian. His attitude was menacing, and once or twice the right hand dropped to a hairy girdle about his waist, as if to draw a huge knife which was suspended there, but upon second thought he seemed to change his mind, and gathering up the rifles of the party, he carried them a little distance into the woods, and returned this time to take away the knives and pistols, most of which were thrown together in a heap, at the place where the rifles had been stacked. Some of the villains had their small-arms upon their persons, but these the intruder did not attempt to touch, and waving his hands triumphantly above his head, he bounded into the thicket, and was seen no more.
Daylight came and they began to yawn and stretch themselves, those who ought to have gone upon guard long before, looking mystified at being allowed to sleep until morning.
“Tracey went to sleep, that’s all,” said Garrett. “Go and kick the brute, somebody. There is no telling what might have happened through his cussed carelessness.”
One of the men sprung to the spot where the recumbent figure of Tracey was seen, and had actually drawn back his foot to kick him, when he saw that his hands were tightly bound, and a gag thrust into his mouth. His cry of astonishment awoke the rest, and they quickly surrounded their fallen comrade, relieved him of the ligatures, and helped him to arise. The eyes of the man were rolling fearfully, and he gasped for breath.