David composed himself, and went on with his story. “‘To-morrow is my wedding-day, men,’ said I, ‘and you’ll let me up or the country won’t be big enough for ye when I’m free,’ but they only laughed at me, and first thing I knew I was alone, not able to move hand or foot, and they’d gone from sight.”
A dozen hands sought their hunting-knives in their excitement. “Who were the men? Did ye ever see them before?” said one. “We’ll settle their hash once we find them.”
“I never saw them before, and I want to see them just once again,” returned David.
“But how did you get away?” came the question from half a dozen.
“I lay there till nearly dawn this morning, working at the straps that bound me; finally I managed to get the leg straps loose and got to my feet. My horse was willing enough to be caught and to follow me to Maxwell’s, for I was that stiff I could not mount him.” He did not say with what effort the walk was made after the long restraint. “There I got my hands freed, had some breakfast, fed my horse, and started for home as hard as I could gallop. If Donald had dropped, I would have footed it, but he held out, and here I am.”
It was the longest speech David had ever made, and it made its impression, following so closely as it did upon Parker’s adventure. The indignation of the men was roused to the uttermost. “We’ll h’ist Hump; he’s got to get out of here; it’s all his doings,” they cried. “It’ll be too hot for him, he’ll find. Those men wanted to get a chance to make tracks was why they left ye there alone, David; they didn’t want ye to trace ’em.”
Parker made his way over to Agnes. “It was David I gave the will to, I remember all about it; it all came back to me as soon as he began his story. I remember that, as I was passing Locke’s ford, he came by and told me he was going to Marietta; it struck me that here was a chance to send the will, and that I could not have a safer messenger. So I concluded that I would make a copy and show that to Hump Muirhead. I had a bit of paper with me that I could use, and the writing of it did not take a moment. I put it in the sliding panel of the little box for safe-keeping. Have you looked to see if there is anything there?”
“No,” Agnes replied; “I supposed it was empty. I am so sorry for poor David; he has had a deal of worriment. What a lot of trouble that will has made!”
“So much the better, for it will prove its genuineness. Nobody would make such a fuss over a worthless piece of paper, and it is evident that Hump Muirhead considers it important. I am glad that it is in proper hands and that your interests are secure. Hump Muirhead could not have chosen a surer way to rid the settlement of his very undesirable self, for not one of these men will stand such outrages, and we will hunt him out of the neighborhood.”
“He deserves it,” Agnes replied. “Poor Jeanie! it was so dreadful to have her wedding-day so nearly a day of grief and sorrow. If David had not been able to free himself, he might still have been lying there, and have died of cold and hunger; that is terrible to think of.”