“And did you see him run?” John added. “I’ve heard people talk of horses going like a streak of lightning, but I never saw anything on legs get over the ground the way that buck did. I wonder, now, how long he intends keeping up this game!”
Before Ree could answer the voice of Theodore Hatch was heard loudly calling, “Nay, do not shoot! Thou art my friend. Hast thou the letter, Ichabod—Ichabod Nesbit?”
They were the most connected and intelligible words the stranger had uttered, though often in his unconsciousness he had called out, but usually in a disconnected, incomprehensible way.
“Ichabod, dost thou not know me? Thou art not dead, Ichabod! Ah, I was deceived. They told me thou wert killed by an Indian in the forest.”
The boys looked questioningly one to the other. Their thoughts ran back to the frayed letter the men at the Eagle tavern had had, and back farther still to the death of Ichabod Nesbit at the hands of Black Eagle.
“I believe he is better,” said Kingdom, referring to the stranger. “His brain is clearer, though he doesn’t know anything. I’ll fix him up some fresh medicine.”
By turns the two boys slept and watched the long night through. As before, the mysterious enemy gave no further trouble after twice firing upon the camp, and another day came and passed without incident.
Fearful of a repetition of the attack of the two preceding evenings, the young travelers made camp early this day that they might make a more secure defense than before, ere nightfall. This work they completed to their satisfaction while the sun was still shining.
The rise of ground on which they had halted gave them an advantage over their foe which they had not had before. Impatiently they watched and waited for the expected appearance of the lone savage.
“The third time’s the charm, they say,” remarked John, with an uneasy little laugh. “I believe we will get him or he will get us, this time.”