"Well, quick—quick, or he will escape. By heavens, look!"
The Indian had reached the extreme branches of the declining oak. He paused an instant and then sprang for the tree below.
It was a fearful leap. But he succeeded in grasping one of the topmost branches. His weight bent the frail limb, and before he could grasp another, it had broken, and his form went whirling through the air. But his form was checked by striking one of the main limbs, and with an effort he secured a firmer hold. In an instant he had reached the body of the tree, and was safe.
As he reached the base of the ledge, he turned and cried:
"Price—me meet you again!"
CHAPTER II.
The Meeting—The tale of Wrong and Blood—The Avenger—The Oath—The Mountain Maid—The Lover.
Oh, I could play the woman with mine eyes, and braggart with my tongue.