“I never thought to set eyes on you again,” was the way in which he welcomed Matt and his boys. “You’ve kept yourselves tol’able close since Swan burned your camp, ain’t you? An’ they do say that Jakey has made six thousand dollars clean cash outen that Irvin’ton bank robbery. Course I’ll set you acrost. Goin’ to change your quarters, be you? Where do you reckon you’ll bring up?”
“New London,” replied Matt, readily. “From there we’ll take a boat to some place on the Sound where they want wood-choppers, an’ then we’ll settle down an’ go to work.”
“But the ole woman ain’t with you.”
“She’s goin’ cross lots, ’cause she didn’t think she could stand the long tramp that me and the boys are goin’ to take. Yes; we’re goin’ to hide ourselves durin’ the winter, an’ when spring comes mebbe we’ll come too. They’ll forget all about us by that time.”
“Well, I hope the constables won’t foller you through the woods.”
“It wouldn’t be healthy for any body to do that,” replied Matt, looking sharply at the man with his little black eyes. “A feller who can hit a squirrel’s head at every shot can throw a bullet middlin’ clost to a mark the bigness of a constable.”
This was a threat, and the man who ferried them across the outlet took it as such. As he was too timid as well as too indolent to take any steps that would lead to the squatter’s apprehension, he contented himself by going back to his cabin, smoking a pipe, and wishing he had the reward that had been put upon Matt’s head.
The pursuers had lost a good deal of time in going from Tom Bigden’s camp to the outlet, but they made up for it by the fast traveling they did after they were set across. If Matt had not missed his way, he might have come up with Joe that night. As it was, he and his boys went into camp about three miles from the spring-hole. During their journey they came near showing themselves to a couple of individuals who passed through the woods a hundred yards in advance, heading toward Indian Lake; but Matt, always on the watch, dropped in time to avoid discovery, and the boys touched the ground almost as soon as he did.
“Who be they?” whispered the squatter, peering through the bushes in the vain effort to obtain a view of the strangers’ faces.
“They’re them two fellers that always runs with Joe Wayring,” answered Jake.