“Yer all hyar?” he asked, looking over his followers.
“All hyar!”
“How many air ye?”
“Fifteen.”
“Fifteen brave, stout men. Wal, yer all ready? Come on! foller clost, boys; keep yer eyes open, yer mouths shet, and don’t tramp on the trail! Hyar we go after little Katie!”
He started off at a round pace with the most gigantic strides, bending down to see the trail, and keeping his gun at a trail.
The others followed, observing his instructions, and fuming to recover Katie. Hettie, from her position in the block-house, saw them emerge from the forest, gather round Sol, and then start away rapidly and disappear in the wood. She sighed.
“Ah!” she sorrowfully murmured, “my darling, I hope you will come to no harm.”
Into the forest they plunged, just after midday, swiftly pursuing an open trail. On they went, stealing under drooping trees, striking out across a glade, slinking into a dense coppice, out again with a pause and a listen, then on, following the plain trail. Never deviating, never halting, always wary and watchful, they went on; and the ghostly trees nodded, the sun shone redly down, and all was quiet in Dead-Man’s Forest.
Hallo! who is talking? who is crying aloud when all should be still? who speaks? Hallo!