“Whar? I don’t see nothin’.”
“Don’t you? Well, I do. It is a valise, and has General Mason’s name on it. I can see it as plainly as I can see you. There hasn’t been any thing going on here, eh? I know better. There are eight thousand dollars in gold in that valise, Luke Redman, and you were making off with it. That’s what’s been going on.”
Mark had hit the nail squarely on the head. Luke Redman certainly had General Mason’s valise in his skiff, and he had come down the bayou, intending to escape to the river with his booty, and cross into Louisiana; and it is probable that he would have succeeded in carrying out his plans, had it not been for the accident that compelled him to take refuge in the tree.
When the skiff was overturned, one of the handles of the valise had, by the merest accident, caught in the row-lock, and that was all that saved it from going to the bottom of the bayou.
There it hung, in plain sight, bobbing up and down in the water, as the skiff rose and fell with the waves.
A dead silence succeeded Mark’s bold announcement of the discovery he had made.
The Dragoons brought their consultation to a sudden close, and looked at Luke Redman, whose face turned pale with alarm, and then almost purple with rage.
“I call this a lucky hunt, after all,” said Mark, who, knowing that he was out of reach of his enemies, was disposed to be impudent. “When I get back to the settlement, my first hard work shall be to clear Jerry Lamar, and put the authorities on your track.”
“But you hain’t got back to the settlement yet,” shouted Luke Redman, “an’, what’s more, you shan’t go. You’ll never see your home ag’in, mind that.”
“Why not?” inquired Mark, who knew very well what the man meant by this threat. “Who’s going to hinder me?”