He had found a secure refuge with the outlaw band who had rescued him from the power of the vigilance committee, where he resolved to remain until his plans for the future were fully matured, at the urgent request of the leader. This man had evinced a strong interest in Poynter, and pledged his own as well as the assistance of the band, if it should prove necessary, in any way.
Just as Poynter was about to cross the crest of a hill, he heard the quick thud of a horse's hoofs coming at full speed upon the opposite side of the rise, and darted at once into the thicket of bushes upon the left side of the road. Cautiously parting the leafy screen, so that he could observe the extreme summit of the rise, Poynter awaited the horseman's approach.
Scarcely had he done so when the rider rose the crest, and drawing rein, paused and glanced around him. With a half-surprised curse, Poynter raised his heavy rifle, while the sharp click sounded clear and distinct, as the hammer was sprung back; but then he lowered it.
"The lying dog! For a cent I'd plug him, if only to save 'Judge Lynch' a job."
The horse and rider were standing out in bold relief against the clear sky, but still the ambushed fugitive could tell that Polk Redlaw, the half-breed, stood before him. Although strongly tempted to punish his treacherous foe, Poynter withheld his hand, lest he should get still further entangled in the wiles of his secret enemy.
Redlaw appeared to be expecting some one, as Clay judged from his manner, and after a few minutes' waiting, he placed his fingers to his mouth, and blew a shrill, piercing blast, that echoed from point to point before dying down to nothing. Scarcely had the sounds ceased, when a second peal came whistling along the ridge, as if in answer; to which Polk replied, and then dismounted as if satisfied, standing beside his noble-looking horse, idly smoothing the long, flowing mane.
In a few moments a second man appeared upon foot, with his long rifle carried at a trail, and the two men greeted each other as if greatly pleased at the meeting. Again the steely glitter shone in Poynter's eyes, while he bit his lips fiercely as if to repress his emotions, when he recognized the new-comer.
"Ah!" he gritted, as he crouched forward. "Wesley Sprowl! There's deviltry on foot when such men meet together, and by all that's good, I'll scent it out!"
The two men now plunged into a little side-trail, Redlaw leading his horse, and no sooner had they disappeared than Poynter retreated until around the bend, where he glided across the road, and in a few moments struck their trail; keeping just without the path, where, if by any chance the men he was dogging should glance back, he would be out of sight.
They proceeded leisurely enough, and he had no difficulty in keeping within ear-shot of the horse's tread, while his own footsteps were deadened upon the moist soil. After proceeding thus for nearly half a mile, the two men paused, and slipping the bit from his horse's mouth, Polk Redlaw allowed it to feed at will while he and Sprowl seated themselves upon the greensward beneath a huge oak tree.