Boone looked worried.
“It’s got to be done,” said he. “But I can’t go myself, and just now there is nobody to send.”
“Eph and I will go,” declared young Barclay, resolutely; “maybe Sandy, too—it’ll be good sport and some excitement.”
“And mixed in more than a mite of danger—don’t forget that,” said Boone.
“If there was no danger there would be no excitement,” laughed Oliver, and away he swung to search out Eph and the Scotch boy.
The latter, in preparation for action of some kind, was whetting the edge of a huge saber upon a stone which some one had given him. Eph Taylor sat at his side rubbing carefully at the lock of his much considered rifle Jerusha.
“She’s in good working order as she stands,” said Eph, by way of explanation. “And she always shoots true and fair; but then a little extra looking after won’t hurt her now, for there’s no telling when I’ll get the next chance to look after her rightly.”
“Now, there you spoke the truth,” said Oliver. “It may be, indeed, some time, for we’re going to take horse in ten minutes and be off to the head of the south branch.”
Both Eph and Sandy at once came to their feet.
“What’s happened?” asked the latter, his round, good-natured face all aglow.