THE WOODLAND TRAGEDY.
"The crazy man!" cried Boone.
"The Hermit!" echoed Mordaunt.
Lightfoot stood silent, though making a rapid sign with his thumb, that might have represented a cross. An uneasy expression rested upon his strongly-marked features.
"It comes in good time," muttered Boone, drawing a long breath, "be he devil or white man. The red-skins be afoot an' may be upon us at any minnit. All ready?"
"But is not this running blindly upon danger—is there not more safety here behind these walls than out in the open woods?"
"No—you stay here, the sun of to-morrow will never shine for you. How long could you keep the varmints out? One shove from a stout pair of shoulders an' down goes the door. You see now the truth of my words—none but a fool thrusts his scalp into the hands of a Injun."
"But the Osages seemed pleased at my confidence in them. Never an angry word has passed between us!"
"And Seth Grable?"
Mordaunt started. This was a danger he had overlooked. He knew that the half-wild hunter was now a bitter enemy, who had sworn revenge.