As the woman bent over them, Norton heard Red Hugh murmur something in the Indian tongue. The guard stopped him harshly, but the wrinkled squaw looked at Norton, then started at sight of his moccasins.
"Git to work," growled the guard, striking her roughly over the head. "You got a man o' your own, so don't make eyes at them fellers!"
This kindly pleasantry drew a roar of applause from the others, and after giving the prisoners a gourd of water each, the squaw retired, still watching Norton. A half-hour later the party had again taken up its way. Now, however, Red Hugh lay beside Norton on the wagon.
"I told that squaw to look at your moccasins," he whispered softly to the latter. "She looked to me like a Shawnee, though her husband was a Delaware. If she takes the hint and Tecumthe hears of this affair, I feel sorry for these devils when the Shawnees avenge you."
"Nonsense," returned Norton, laughing harshly. "You're away off the track, Hugh. Tecumthe will never bother his head over me, even if he hears of it. Our only hope is that Audubon or Ayres will get after us in alarm with the Regulators, and will trace us."
"They won't trace this gang," returned the other. "Two of 'em are wiping out the tracks after us."
Neither of them said more, Norton relapsing into a troubled doze. Just as evening was drawing on, they came to the journey's end. And at last Norton found himself in the headquarters of the gang.
It was a settlement rather than a cache, consisting of a little cluster of buildings. Two of these were large sleeping cabins for the men, where a few slatternly women appeared at the doors with loud ribaldry. Another was a large kitchen and dining-room, with a lean-to where dwelt Grigg and his daughter. Norton felt his heart ache for the helpless girl.
Behind all, at the edge of a small stream which passed beyond the settlement, was a long low building where the stolen goods were stored, as it appeared. Besides these, there were two outlying shacks where some of the men lived with Indian wives or worse; farther downstream was a corn-patch, with signs of cleared ground beyond, along the banks of the stream.
The whole place was doubtless a year or two old, and bespoke thorough organization. Duval, who now seemed quite at home and absolutely in authority, was beyond doubt the organizer, for he seemed to rule the place with an iron hand. Norton and Red Hugh were carried into the big store-barn and left, unguarded but bound. The men at once fell to work fetching in the goods brought by cart, adding them to the quantities already laid up in the cache.