“Captain, you’re too quick,” he cried; “Bill, put up your knife; the Captain’s hardly awake. If the gal’s really gone,” he continued, more composedly, “the best thing to do is to put after her; she can’t have got far; and with that hound of yours,” and he turned to Arrison, “we ought to be able to track her to hell itself.”
“I meant no offence,” said Bill, who was easily mollified, as men of his disposition usually are. “But when I found she’d got off, by walking right through this ‘ere room, I couldn’t help thinking it a good joke. She’s a gal of mettle, anyhow.” And he laughed again, in spite of Arrison’s scowling brow, and the lieutenant’s significant winks.
Arrison, now that he had time to reflect, saw that Bill spoke the truth, and though the youth’s laughter galled him, he could not resent it further. The ties which held his followers to him, were wholly voluntary, and he feared, if he persisted in wreaking his vengeance on Bill, that a real mutiny might arise; for the lad was a general favorite, as he always told the merriest tale, was continually joking to beguile the time, and generally was the life of the gang, socially. So the chief answered, smothering his rage, “I was but half awake, that’s a fact. The jade’s had no one to help her but herself; and Bill must forget what I said.” He held out his hand as he concluded, which the youth took and shook in token of restored amity.
“That’s all I ask, Captain,” replied Bill. “I don’t wonder you’re a little riled, for if she’d been mine, as she was yourn, I’d have fell on the first feller I saw, when I woke and found her gone, so infernally rampaging mad would I have been. She’ll be lucky if she gets away; for them ere swamps ain’t so easy for a stranger.”
But the wrath which Arrison could not discharge on Bill, found vent on the helpless child, his reputed niece. It suggested itself to him, at this point, that the bloodhound must have been roused by Kate’s escape; that the child must have interposed to quiet the dog; and that thus his prey had succeeded in escaping. Scarcely had the speaker ceased, therefore, before Arrison rushed out, and entering the barn, where the child still lay asleep, grasped her rudely by the arm, and jerked her to her feet.
Terrified, and as yet but half awake, the poor thing began to tremble violently; and seeing Arrison’s face distorted with rage, burst into tears, exclaiming,
“Oh! don’t—please don’t—”
But the ruffian, shaking her violently, she could not proceed; and so remained sobbing and choaking, piteously supplicating him with her eyes.
“You jade,” he cried, “I’ll shake the breath out of you to some purpose. You little liar, don’t dare to say you didn’t do it.”
“I didn’t say it,” gasped the child. “Please don’t, ple-e-ase—”