“Know that,” replied Robbins, “but neither is he the man to hurry when success depends on deliberation.”
“Very true,” drawled the profligate, musingly, “and yet my only fear is that they will find the island deserted.”
“Ef that’s yer only fear ye may jest dispense with it to onc’t, ’cause the birds ain’t thunk o’ flyin’ yit,” said Robbins, confidently, and then with a smile that the darkness concealed, he added to himself: “Ah, my fine fellow, if you knew all you would have yet another fear, that would be a source of more trouble than this.”
But, not knowing all, McCabe had no other fear, and even the one that had taken possession of him was partially dispelled by the words of his companion. He had learned to trust the hunter so completely that nothing short of ocular proof could have convinced him of his deceptiveness.
The two men stood on the bank of the river, watching and waiting, while Mike Terry still sat on the same stone near by, watching and waiting too. Jim McCabe was impatient and restless.
“Girty is slow,” he exclaimed. “I wish he would hurry. I wonder if he thinks he has the whole night in which to do this job?”
He paused for a reply, but, receiving none, continued:
“I wish the thing was over, and I had my future wife in my arms. Confound the luck! I believe the man has drawn his men off without even attempting the massacre. If I but had the Indians under my command for a short time, I’d spread desolation over the face of the waters. I wonder what time it is?”
Still the hunter did not reply, but stood like a statue, gazing out on the river, his eyes gleaming like coals of fire.