“Cheer up, my lad; that’ll soon get better. I only wish, though, I had come last night when that fellow was here. I don’t believe my conscience would ever have said anything if I had put a bullet through him.”
Abel lay silent near the fire, watching the dog thoughtfully while stores were unpacked and preparations made for a meal; but at last he spoke.
“Dal,” he said, “give me that knife that you found.”
“What for? You had better lie still, and don’t worry about anything now except trying to get well.”
“Give me the knife. I’ve been thinking. That man who attacked me last night was one of that gang.”
“What!” cried Tregelly, stopping in his task of frying bacon. “Nonsense! they daren’t show their noses here now.”
“I feel sure of it,” said Abel excitedly. “Let me look at that knife. I believe it’s the one that was stolen from the man on the lake.”
Dallas looked at him doubtingly, before picking up the knife and shaking his head. “It might be, or it might not,” he said dubiously, as he passed it to his cousin.
“Well, at any rate, Dal, they have tracked us down, and that accounts for the attack.”
“It looks like it,” said Dallas; “but don’t get excited, old fellow. I don’t want you to turn worse.”