"Yas, sir."
With this the ranger turned on his heel, satisfied that they had a traitor on board. This may seem strange to the reader, but it would not be to a backwoodsman who understood the case. The eagerness and quickness this man had evinced to point out danger, ever since he joined our friends, was good reason in itself for suspicion. Had he been a genuine ranger, he would have hesitated before giving his opinion, and not defeat his own ends by showing too much knowledge of what was unknown to the rest.
Peterson walked away from him, and communicated his suspicions to several of his friends. Just as he expected, they laughed at him, and accused him almost of meanness. Stung by this rebuke, the ranger became silent and sullen and left them.
In the meantime, the man upon shore was bellowing louder than ever. Not content with being once refused, he was limping along shore, and beseeching them in more piteous tones than ever. Still the whites resolutely turned their ears against him, and would not have noticed him at all, had not the stranger spoken.
"I declare, it looks queer anyhow. I never knowed one of them decoys to hang on like that."
"You have no notion that he is anything else but one, or that he has any object except our own destruction?"
"I didn't think different at first, but it begins to look doubtful. Just let me say a few words to him."
With this, he stepped to one side of the boat, and called out, "What's your name?"
"John Haggart."
"How come you to git in such an ugly fix?"