Just then there was a clatter of chairs on the deck and looking around Walter Jordan saw Huntley and a sharp-faced man dressed in black.
“Hello!” said Ned Chandler in a low tone to Walter, “there’s Sam Davidge now.”
“He’s seen that it’s no use hiding any longer,” said Walter; “and now he’s come out in the open. But,” his eyes on the two men, “I wonder what they’re up to?”
“No good, I’ll say that,” said Ned, with a promptness that made Walter smile.
The two men made way for themselves among the chairs; and when they had reached the party of which Crockett and the boys were members, they paused.
“How are you, Mr. Burr?” cried Huntley, with great cordiality. “I thought I saw you on board to-day.”
“How do you do, sir?” said Burr, who did not seem at all sure who Huntley was. “I’m pleased to see you again.”
“I met you—in Nashville, I think it was. Abe Sterrit, I think, introduced us,” said Huntley, seeing that Burr was not certain of him.
The planter’s face fell; and Crockett chuckled at the sight.
“Abe Sterrit’s a horse jockey at Nashville,” whispered the backwoodsman to Ned, a wide grin upon his face. “And I don’t think Mr. Burr sets much store by him.”