“It is good,” said the Mountain Hermit, with a grim smile. “Let Bearskin watch well. Has any one come along the road to-day?”
The Indian answered not for a moment. His quick ear had caught a sound to which the other was insensible, and he stood with his head bent on one side listening intently.
“One comes now,” said the white man, quickly. “Do not kill him on the road, or the sight may deter others. Drag him into the forest, and keep him till I come.”
The Indian nodded silently, and plunged into the forest in a direction that promised to take him toward the road that crossed the foot of the valley almost within sight of the clearing.
The recluse remained a moment listening, and presently caught the sounds which the quicker senses of the chief had first announced. A horseman was evidently galloping along the road toward him, and the clatter of spur and scabbard told the nature of the traveler without words.
The recluse cast his rifle into the hollow of his arm, and struck across the valley to a point where he could intersect the road in its many curves at a much nearer point. He was a little curious to see who the advancing dragoon might be.
There was still plenty of light, although the sun was fast nearing the mountain tops, and the long strides of the Mountain Hermit took him across the stretch of woods that barred him from the road in a very short time.
As he neared it, the sound of horse-hoofs and the clatter of a saber-scabbard were plainly audible, skirting the mountain-side beyond.
At the point which the recluse had reached, the road came round a spur, over the dividing ridge, and dived into the valley beyond. Waiting a few moments, till the sound of hoofs was close by, the Mountain Hermit stalked boldly into the road, just as the young hussar captain dashed around the corner.
At the sight of the stranger’s figure, Adrian Schuyler abruptly halted, throwing his horse on its haunches close to the other, while the sharp click of his pistol-lock enforced the stern command, “Halt!”