His sole object in lingering behind was to be alone for a while with his thoughts. Of course he had no intention of joining the savages in their attack on his friends, though he had made such a pretense to the poor dupe McCabe. Having carried out his plan successfully so far, he wished to bring the latter part of it to perfect maturity before proceeding further, in order to prevent such a thing as running into an unlooked-for difficulty, which he had done once already. To do this he desired a few minutes of solitude, that he might think it all over undisturbed, and it was for this reason alone that he sent McCabe on ahead.
For a long time he sat there on the log, lost in study, and when at last he rose to his feet, the mellow twilight had deepened into the blacker shades.
Surprised to find that he had tarried there so long, the hunter snatched up his gun and hastened away in the direction McCabe had taken. He was pleased with the latter’s proposition to keep out of the fight, as it prevented the suspicion that might have been excited by such a one being offered by himself. They could station themselves on the shore directly opposite the island, and, with their ears, note the commencement, end and result of the contemplated contest. Thus he reflected as he walked along the river-bank through the gathering darkness of night, and a strange smile twitched the beard that covered his mouth, as he muttered:
“Result, indeed! Ha! ha! ha! It will be a far different result from that which he expects, for Kirby Kidd and Wapawah would not have been caught napping even if I had failed to put them on their guard. Kidd declared that, if the rest of the party would follow strictly the directions of himself and Wapawah, they could defeat the assailants without the loss of a man, and I believe he spoke the truth.”
Nick Robbins now ended his soliloquy, and brought his mind down to the present. He walked on some distance further, with long, rapid strides, and at length became aware that he had reached the point he was aiming for. Off to his right he could see the shadowy outlines of the island. He came to a dead halt. Where was Jim McCabe? He looked around him, but saw only the frowning tree-trunks on one side, and the glistening water on the other. It was quite dark now, and the only luminaries visible were the myriads of twinkling stars that bespangled the blue canopy above. He was about to move on, when his footsteps were arrested by a loud, angry voice, exclaiming:
“So you have been following me, have you?—you accursed brat! And you now hint that you will proclaim me a murderer to the world rather than see me accomplish my purpose.”
The speaker was undoubtedly Jim McCabe!
“Faith, Jamie, I haven’t been follerin’ iv yeez, at all, at all,” said another voice, in rich Irish brogue. With astonishment the hunter recognized this one as that of the boy, Mike Terry! He stood perfectly quiet, and listened.
“What, rascal! Will you say you have not been following me? Tell me, then, how came you here?”