“An’ he’s goin’ t’ Bushwhackers’ Place?”
He sat nodding his big head up and down, evolving some wicked plan in his slow-working brain.
“If I start away to-night I kin get across th’ border afore he kin let th’ dogs out,” he said eagerly.
Watson shook his head.
“You couldn’t make it in four days, not in this weather,” he asserted. “Besides, you’d leave a track that anybody could follow. Those dogs are swift and they would have you in two days if you tried that way.”
“When d’ye think Hallibut’ll be goin’ over?” asked Amos, standing up. The liquor had steadied his nerves and he spoke in his old voice.
Smythe shrugged his shoulders.
“A man from St. Thomas was in to-night,” he said slowly. “He says the trail was pretty well blocked yesterday. We know Hallibut will go as soon as it is possible for him to do so, and we know this rain means a clear trail to-morrow. Also,” he added sinisterly, “we know that Hallibut will surely call here on his way over, and that he is taking his life in his hands by going at all.”
“Do you think he’ll get shot?” asked Amos.
“No danger,” said Watson. “You know what the Bushwhackers are like, Broadcrook. It was over three months ago they made that threat. They will never fire on the Colonel now.”