“Who are you?” queried the chief.
“Boyd Wyman; and I can vouch for these people’s loyalty even as I can my own.”
“It is Boyd Wyman!” averred one of the soldiers. “They said he was wounded and stopping up here.”
“Is the old man seriously hurt?” asked the leader, moving in his seat uneasily.
“Yes,” replied the scout; “he has received his death wound.”
“I am sorry, for we meant him no harm. Who is that beside him?”
“Mara Morland, his grand-daughter. She has just returned from Dalton where she has been to bear dispatches for me, as I have got a chunk of lead in my leg and cannot walk. But what means this piece of unwarranted work? You have the old man’s life to answer for.”
“We were after Cavalry Curt,” replied the other, doggedly. “He has escaped, and that chap by the old man helped him to do it.”
“You know better; but go your way and leave peaceful folks alone. You have done mischief enough already.”
“It ain’t come out just as I expected. Reckon though we’ll keep an eye on this place. Sergeant Goodale, I will leave ten men here under your charge as guards, see that no one leaves it. You will be held accountable for every life here.”