He released his grasp slowly. He could not bear the pain and terror in the eyes of the slender English youth, who, though he wore the uniform of a subaltern, seemed so much out of place there in the deep woods. Yet the forester meant to take no needless risk.
"Promise that you will not cry out and I spare you," he said, his blue eyes looking straight into those of the lad, which returned his gaze with defiance. The steel grasp settled down again.
"Better promise," said Henry. "It's your only chance."
The obstinate look passed out of his eyes, and the lad nodded, as he could not speak. Then Henry took away his hand and said:
"Remember your word."
The English youth nodded again, gurgled two or three times, and rubbed his throat:
"'Twas a mighty grip you had upon me. Who are you?"
"The owners of this forest, and we've jest been tellin' you that you've no business here on our grounds," said the shiftless one.
The boy—he was nothing more—stared at them in astonishment. It was obvious to the two forest runners that he had little acquaintance with the woods. His eyes filled with wonder as he gazed upon the two fierce faces, and the two powerful figures, arrayed in buckskin.
"Your forest?" he said.