“I do—go on,” faintly muttered the settler.
“He was met, on his return, by three men—part of those who—who burned Colton’s house. They, in the dim light, thought it was me, and they believed that I had betrayed them in that matter. There was a fight, in which the old man shot two, when the other made off. His horse had been hurt, and so was the girl. She was shot in the side. If you followed his trail, you must have lost it in the river. He rode there, and seeing that his horse was nearly dead, he shot him and sent it floating down-stream, to cover his trail. Then he waded up-stream, finally reaching his retreat.”
“Where is that?”
“In the baranca that cuts through the ten-mile prairie. In the east side is concealed a good-sized cave. He lives there.”
“And the gal?” asked Ruel, in answer to a sign from the agitated father.
“I don’t know whether she is living or not. Mestayer told me that she was fatally wounded.”
“A durned lie—don’t yer b’lieve him, neighbor,” splurted Ruel, as Hawksley sunk to the ground with a bitter groan. “Now, what of Fred Hawksley? An’ who is that gal that he rid a’ter?”
“Mestayer’s daughter. He is hidden there, but he is crazy. The old man hit him on the head with a club, and injured his brain.”
“Ask him about Ned,” suggested Fenton.
“If you mean Ned Campbell, he’s there, too,” quickly replied Mestayer.