“Mr. Mortimer, be that you a standin’ out thar by the corn-crib?” shouted Jack Bowles.
The gentleman heard the question, but he was thinking too busily about something else to reply. He stood motionless, watching Julian as he sped swiftly through the stable-yard, and when he leaped the fence and ran along the path that led toward the woods, Mr. Mortimer slowly and reluctantly returned to the cabin.
“Wasn’t thar nobody out thar with ye?” demanded Jack.
“Yes,” was the scarcely audible reply; “Julian was there, but I could not detain him, for he had a loaded rifle in his hands.”
“Why didn’t ye holler?” asked Jack fiercely. “I’ve got a rifle, I reckon.”
“Would you call for help if you saw a weapon pointed straight at your breast?”
Jack made no answer. He stepped aside to allow his guest to pass, and Mr. Mortimer entered and took his seat on one of the nail-kegs. He glanced at his host, and saw that there was something about his person that he had not before noticed. It was a broad leather belt, from which protruded the buck-horn handle of a bowie-knife. Mr. Mortimer shuddered as he looked at it, and wished himself away in the woods with Julian.