Benton that morning had produced a large flask of whisky, and left it with Bob while he went off to shoot a squirrel for breakfast. On his return he found that Bob had drank up the entire contents of the flask and was in a drunken slumber. He had just awakened out of it when Murdock came.
“It was ’tarnal good corn-juice,” said Bob, smacking his lips at the remembrance.
“Well, you didn’t leave any for me to taste, so I don’t know whether it was or not,” said Benton, in ill-humor.
“You didn’t come back, an’ I make a p’int never to let whisky spile when I’m ’round to drink it up,” exclaimed Bob.
“The next time you get any of my whisky to drink, I reckon you’ll know it,” said Benton, significantly.
“Well, you needn’t get riled at a feller,” replied Bob.
From where the two stood they commanded a view of the cabin. Their astonishment was great when they beheld Murdock come from behind the cabin in evident agitation. He stopped before the door of the log-house, which was fastened on the outside by a rude bar—Murdock’s device to prevent the escape of the prisoner. Then he beckoned for the two to come to him.
Astonished, they obeyed the gesture. Evidently something was the matter.
“Who saw the girl this morning?” demanded Murdock, when they approached.
“I did,” responded Benton.