"Look for the fellow! where is he?" said Tom Gordon.
The crack of a rifle, and a bullet which passed right over his head, answered from the swamp, and the voice, which he knew was Harry's, called from within the thicket,—
"Tom Gordon, beware! Remember Hark!" At the same time another rifle-shot came over their heads.
"Come, come," said the other two, "there's a gang of them. We had better be off. You can't do anything with that broken arm, there." And, helping Tom into the saddle, the three rode away precipitately.
As soon as they were gone, Harry and Dred emerged from the thicket. The latter was reported among his people to have some medical or surgical skill. He raised Clayton up, and examined him carefully.
"He is not dead," he said.
"What shall we do for him?" Said Harry. "Shall we take him along to the minister's cabin?"
"No, no," said Dred; "that would only bring the Philistines upon him!"
"It's full three miles to E.," said Harry. "It wouldn't do to risk going there."
"No, indeed," said Dred. "We must take him to our stronghold of Engedi, even as Samson bore the gates of Gaza. Our women shall attend him, and when he is recovered we will set him on his journey."