Mr. Wilson’s words made Guy rather uneasy. He did not want to doubt the hunter—Zeke had been so very cordial and so profuse in his promises of friendship and assistance that the boy had implicit faith in him—but still he begun to think that he had been rather hasty in trusting him. If Zeke run away with his hunting-kit, he would be just thirty-five dollars out of pocket. But he need not have been under any apprehensions. The hunter certainly intended to possess himself of all Guy’s property, but he wanted at the same time to get his hands on the twenty-five dollars the boy carried in his monk-bag.
Mr. Wilson begun fishing up from the capacious depths of the pack-saddle the things Zeke had stowed away there, and Guy thought he looked a little disappointed when he found that his property had all been returned to him. The hunter, knowing the disposition of the man with whom he had to deal, had sent back everything.
The hours between four o’clock and dark passed away very slowly. Knowing that he had many a mile of hard riding yet to do before he could go to sleep, Guy refreshed himself with a hearty supper, and then lay down on a bench under the porch. He grew very restless and impatient as the appointed time drew near, and although he longed for its arrival, he almost dreaded to have it come, for if Zeke broke his word, there was another bright hope dashed to the ground.
It begun to grow dark at last, and Guy stepped down from the porch, and walked slowly toward the “spouting well,” as Zeke had called it, looking back every few steps to make sure that he was not followed.
He was not obliged to wait even a moment at the water-tank, for his new friend, faithful to his promise, was there with two horses. Guy was greatly relieved.
“Halloo, pard!” said he. “I’m glad you have come, for I begun to feel a little shaky. Mr. Wilson told me that I’d never see my things again.”
“You got that money with you?” asked Zeke.
“Of course I have.”
“Whar is it?”
“In my monk-bag around my neck. Have you got my rifle and other things?”