“Beware of the strange savage who desireth only to kill, and hath no courage in him—always shooting from behind.”
“He’s got you marked up on his arm as already dead, you know, Mr. Hatch, and you should be in no danger,” John laughingly called in reply.
But barely had he finished the sentence when he was seized from behind and a dirty hand was clasped so quickly and tightly over his mouth that he could not utter a sound. Vainly he struggled, but he was dragged down into the snow and could not release himself.
So occupied was John in doing his best to escape, or at least to cry out in warning to the Quaker, that he did not see what had happened to his companion.
The facts were that Mr. Hatch’s mare, being very much more sensitive and alert than slow-going Neb, had suddenly shied upon passing a large poplar tree, and as a man sprang from behind it to seize him, as another seized John, the horse gave so violent a leap forward that the fellow grasped only at the air, though his intended victim was almost thrown from the saddle.
The old gentleman looked around, and seeing John’s horse, startled from its slow walk to a gallop, coming up behind, and having no doubt that the boy was lying low on the animal’s back to escape whatever danger threatened, he gave his mare free rein. On and on he hastened through the snow, followed by the frightened unridden horse, nor did he stop until, dazed by excitement, the dapple-gray panting and perspiring as though it were a hot day in July, he drew up at the cabin door.
Meanwhile John’s captor had been reinforced by the fellow who had failed to catch the Quaker.
“Nice mess you made of the job, I must say!” angrily growled the man who held John down, the lad’s face buried in the snow, as the other man came up.
By a vigorous squirm, rising partly on his hands and knees, John succeeded in turning over and getting his first look at the fellow who had seized him. Instantly he recognized the “Indian” who had visited the cabin, still in Indian costume, though there was no doubt that his skin was white.
“So it is you, is it, Duff?” said the boy calmly as he could. “I would recognize your angelic temper anywhere.”