“What do you want?”
“I was gwine to jine the brigade, but I’m afeard thar ain’t no chance now. I’ve lost my traps and shootin’-irons.”
“That will not trouble you if you can prove yourself a true man. However, you can pass the night here, and in the morning we’ll see what can be done.”
“Much obliged; who be you?”
“Captain Farrell of the trapping brigade.”
“Whew! And to think I lowered myself to rile up at you. It was durned ridiculous.”
Dave Farrell took the prisoner in charge, led him to the cabin and put him in a small room in the rear. Rafe did not look up as he heard Myrtle’s exclamation of surprise, but passed on sullenly to his prison, where he sunk down upon the floor and dropped his head upon his arms. The moment the door closed upon Farrell he sprung to his feet and laughed scornfully, for he knew his power well. Yet he listened earnestly while Dave told Myrtle the story to which she listened with a look of horror.
“Revenge is sweet,” he muttered. “My hour will come.”
CHAPTER V.
A COWARD’S DEED.
By the time the Indian dead were buried, darkness had come and the party were gathered in the large room of the cabin at supper. They were quite merry and Rafe listened with a grim smile as the man who called himself Velveteens recounted the manner of his capture and escape at length, going into particulars as to time and place.