"Come on, Norton—wade around the brake——"
"Stop!" The man in the canoe levelled the rifle full at them; he was barely three yards away, and an eddy of the stream floated the canoe around. "You-all ain't in no danger. This here's a warnin' to git. They's a flatboat comin' around the bend—swim out an' git took off; stay on her clar to Saint Looey, an' keep out o' this country, you"—and Norton perceived that the remarks were addressed to him.
He also perceived something else. The man was holding the rifle at his left shoulder; he was bearded, wore a buckskin coat and a cap of fox, with the brush hanging over his back. Norton started suddenly. He had no need to see powder-horn or moccasins.
"So you're completing your work, eh?" he cried savagely. "You're the man who shot at me on the Beargrass Creek road the other day, eh?"
The villainous face of the man contracted.
"Ain't no 'lasses sticking to your feet, is they?" he jeered. "Right ye are, pardner. Now, you-all git aboard that flatboat an' stay thar, see?"
Norton thought swiftly, his hand closing on the hatchet in his belt. This was one of the Blacknose gang, beyond a doubt, and was the man whom Ayres had seen talking with Duval. Was it possible that——
"Who hired you for this dirty work?" he demanded swiftly. "Tell me who Blacknose is, and I'll give you five hundred dollars—"
"Git out an' swim, ye cussed spy," snarled the man evilly. "I ain't goin' to miss ye next time——"
Norton, who had drawn his hand behind him, flicked forward his wrist in an underhand throw, having no chance to raise the tomahawk. Even as the steel flamed out, the man caught the motion and fired; Norton flung himself forward, felt a hot sear of pain across his head, and plunged bodily on the canoe.