“Jean, he ees ze big fool,” was the answer. “He go to catch you—you come here an’ tak post. By gar! dat ees big fool t’ing!”
“Tell me about my father,” said Dave. “How was he wounded and how did he die?”
“Vat I know ’bout dat? I no keel heem! I no see heem ’t all. Jean, he fix dat, I tell you!” And the Frenchman winked suggestively.
“I suppose you mean that Bevoir killed my father,” went on Dave, bitterly.
“I no say dat, no. You ask Jean—he tell truth—I haf noddings to do wid dat, no!” And then the Frenchman would say no more on the subject, nor would he say what had become of the others who had accompanied James Morris. Evidently he did not wish to render himself liable in any manner if it could be avoided.
Slowly the night wore away and morning dawned, bright and clear. To the chagrin of those at the post neither Henry nor Barringford showed himself, nor did they see anything of the sick man or the horses.
“I hope they have not gotten into trouble,” said Joseph Morris. “Yet, if all went well, they should have been here long before this.”
It was about nine o’clock in the morning when they heard several shots at a distance. They watched eagerly, and presently saw Sam Barringford, on horseback, riding with might and main for the post.
“Sam is coming!” cried Dave, running to the gate. “Put down the bars and let him in!”
The bars were loosened and the big gate opened, and a minute later the old frontiersman swept through the opening. He was so exhausted he almost dropped from his steed.