“Dick, what is the matter?”
“Played out!” replied Dick, dropping exhausted on the sod. “Give me some rum, for I am half dead.”
Jackwood put his flask to the mouth of the exhausted man and he drank long and eagerly, and drew a deep breath of relief.
“Ah-h-h! That goes to the spot, Will. I’ve had a long run—chased by the devil’s kid, and it’s a mercy that I have got in alive. It all came of chasing that accursed girl, who got into the woods.”
“It was not your fault, Dick,” said Jackwood. “Minneoba came in and told us about it, and we sent out parties after her, and one of them picked her up.”
“Take care of her yourself, after this,” panted Dick. “I’ve seen the devil to-day, and fought him, and I don’t want any more.”
“Where are the rest of your men?”
“Gone under, I reckon. Jack Fish and Tracey got into the woods, and the rest are dead. I had to play ’possum, or I would have been cooked, too. Give me another drink, and I’ll tell you about it.”
Jackwood gave him the flask, and for a moment nothing was heard except the musical gurgle of the liquor. When he lowered it, a considerable vacuum existed in the vessel, and he told the story of the chase after Sadie with many expletives not necessary to set down here. When he had finished the tale he did the same with the liquor, and stood up.
“You are wounded, Dick!”