“To see Humphrey Muirhead and tell him who saved his little boy. If I can’t see Hump, I will see his wife and tell her and make her promise to tell her husband.”
Dod nodded approval. “Good scheme, but maybe it won’t work, and we ain’t no full proof that he’s got Park.”
“It will do no harm if he hasn’t.”
“That’s true, too. Come along, then, if you want to go with us. We’re not likely to have a pitch battle before we git there, and a gal that has fit Injuns ain’t goin’ to squeal at sight of a gun. Will ye hoof it or shall I git ye a hoss?”
“I’ll go as you do. I should think you would know that,” Agnes replied with some asperity. “It’s not the first search-party I’ve gone with, Uncle Dod. You know I was with them when they found my father.”
“Sure enough. I mind their tellin’ me of it at M’Clean’s. Start on, boys.” The rescuing party set forth, but there was no sign of a human being to be seen in any of the haunts to which the Hunters led them.
“I shall go to the house,” Agnes declared her intention, “and you may come with me or I will go alone, whichever Uncle Dod thinks best.”
The men debated the proposition. “I don’t know as it would be well to let Muirhead know we have wind of the thing,” said Dod Hunter, “but I have my doubts about it’s bein’ the right thing for us to let a gal go up there alone.”
“I’m not afraid, if that is all,” Agnes said.
“It ain’t whether you’re afraid,” said Jerry, “but I reckon four good-sized men ain’t a-goin’ to see a gal do what they hev a right to. I say we all go.” And his proposition was acted upon.