“Ye’ll do no sich a thing,” spoke up Mike, firmly. “It isn’t the likes iv yeez that’ll kape me here two minutes longer, unless ye ties me feet. I won’t stay here so close to the poor craythers that’s goin’ to be kilt intirely be the lots iv red niggers in yer employ.”
The lad was sidling away as he spoke, and looked as if he were about to take to his heels. Observing this, Nick Robbins stepped quickly forward and seized him by the arm.
“Hold on younker,” he said. “It’s the opinion o’ this coon ’ut ye’ll be a deal safer by stayin’ with us.”
Then, stooping down, he whispered in the lad’s ear:
“Keep mum. I am not the friend of that man, nor the enemy of those on the island! Stay with me and you are safe!”
The young Hibernian shot a glance of mingled amazement and gratitude at the speaker, but said nothing in reply. The hunter turned carelessly away, and began to converse with McCabe, while Mike Terry, watching them with a strange expression in his blue eyes, quietly seated himself on a stone, as if he had never had a thought of running away from the two men!
CHAPTER XIII.
THE ISLAND FIGHT.
“Isn’t it time for them to make the attack?” said Jim McCabe, who was all impatience now that the time was drawing near.
“No,” replied Robbins; “it hain’t been dark more’n an hour.”
“What of that? You know Simon Girty is not the man to be tardy on occasions like this.”