"What do you think best to be done, now?"
"Don't talk—I've got to think. Take the gal, an' keep cluss ahind me. Thar—so."
John passed one arm around the lithe waist of the maiden, who shrunk back at first, but then, as his pressure increased, she yielded, and felt all the better for so doing. Really, despite their ominous surroundings, the young couple were progressing finely.
Not another word was spoken until Tobe Castor paused and uttered the agreed upon signal; the cry of the night-hawk. Then Wilson and his wife sprung forward from their covert.
"Annie—our child—where is she?" gasped the mother, breathlessly.
"Here, mother!" and then the trio were locked in a close and warm embrace.
Tobe touched Stevens upon the arm, and drew him to one side. They were the only ones of the party fit for sober consultation, now.
"You say that pesky half-breed, Sloan Young, was at your house?" asked the old scout.
"Yes. I heard Dusky Dick say so."
"You don't think he—that is, you think the folks got out safe?"