“Negro’s all right—fix him in the morning—no failure—be off.”
Immediately following this came the sound of rippling water. Some small object was stealthily pushing away from the shore. Douglas hastily arose and swiftly but silently retraced his steps to the edge of the timber. There he met Bright Wing and Farley.
“What’s up—what’re you nosin’ ’round out here fer?” inquired the latter in a strident whisper.
“Sh!” cautioned Ross, laying his hand upon Joe’s arm.
At that moment a man stepped from the edge of the wood and started across the area, toward the barricade of wagons. He had taken but a few steps in the open, when a black body rose in front of him; and Duke’s low, threatening growl broke the oppressive stillness.
“Good fellow, good fellow!” the man said wheedlingly.
But Duke refused to be moved from his path or his purpose. The man attempted to go around him, but the sagacious animal headed him off and growled more threateningly.
“Curse the brute!” the man muttered fiercely. “I don’t dare to shoot him—the report of a pistol would bring a dozen soldiers to the spot. What am I to do?”
Douglas stepped forward, remarking placidly: