“If you have the heart of a man, you will not allow him to torment me any longer.”
“I’ve got abundance of heart, stranger. In fact, my heart is bigger than a skinned hoss; but I’m kinder afeard. That thar niggur mought be owin’ me suthin sometime, and p’raps, ef I should interfere with him now, he wouldn’t be willin’ to pay me.”
“Jose has whipped you for himself,” said the negro. “He must now whip you for Dove-eye.”
He proved his zeal in the cause of his mistress by administering a dozen more blows, well laid on, and then he turned his victim loose.
“I’m glad that ye’re well orter that scrape, stranger,” said Old Blaze, rising to his feet. “Now I want ye to answer me one question. ’Pears like I’ve seen ye somewhar, sometime. Did ye ever go by the name of Bob Riley?”
The trader turned a frightened, suspicious glance upon his questioner, and then with a cry of alarm, ran at full speed down the ravine. Old Blaze quickly raised his rifle to his shoulder, but lowered it after a moment’s thought.
“It would bring the Injuns down on us,” he muttered, “and that mought upset some of Silverspur’s plans. But I do believe it is the same chap.”
He walked up to Dove-eye’s lodge, followed by Jose, who was supremely gratified at having been allowed to work out his revenge without hindrance.
Silas Wormley, however, was by no means gratified or satisfied. When he believed himself beyond the pursuit of Old Blaze, he slackened his speed, but did not stop until he was safe in the village and in his own lodge. His back smarted to such an extent that he could not sleep, and he passed a restless night, thinking of his degrading and painful punishment, and revolving plans of vengeance.