“Here!” he responded, “and so chock full of the devil that if I don’t get rid of it soon it will spile me. Walker, you dirty beast, dare you fight me?” he yelled.
“I dare fight any decent antagonist, but don’t care to dirty my hands with you,” was the reply.
“Oh, you nasty, miserable, thievin’ woman-stealer, man-assassinator. I’ll cook your breakfast for you, but Fall-leaf shall eat it; he’ll dirty his hands with you!”
“I defy you and all your crew,” growled the rebel. “If one of you dares to show your head, you are a dead man!”
“Blast yer picter, here’s a head—shoot it!” cried Nettleton, sticking his head out in a manner to dare Walker’s fire.
The scoundrel was prepared, and discharged his gun in an instant. Its report had not ceased its echo ere Fall-leaf, with a bound like a panther, dropped before the entrance of the hole. Walker stood there with knife in hand, to foil any such attempt to storm his castle. A quick blow with his foot sent the Indian headlong over the ledge.
“Try that on me,” roared Nettleton, who, uninjured by the ball from Walker’s musket, was at the Indian’s heels.
No sooner said than done, and Nettleton received an unexpected blow in the bowels from the rebel’s heavy boot which sent him almost instantly over the ledge after Fall-leaf.
That was the propitious moment for escape. Without a word to his captive, he passed out upon the ledge, and had nearly reached its terminus when Lieutenant Wells, followed by his men, confronted the desperate man. Drawing his revolver, Wells cried:
“Surrender or you are a dead man!”