A BLOODY CONFLICT.
This was the letter that was handed to Caesar:
I have received your note. I must have time to think, and time perhaps to get hold of the gold. Don’t harm a hair of the boy’s head. If so, I will hunt you to death.
JEFFERSON PETTIGREW.
P.S.—Meet me tomorrow morning at the rocky gorge at the foot of Black Mountain. Ten o’clock.
Caesar took the letter, and bent his steps in the direction of the place where he had tethered his horse. He did not observe that he was followed by two men, who carefully kept him in sight, without attracting attention to themselves.
When Caesar reached the place where he had tethered the horse, he was grievously disappointed at not finding him. One of the miners in roaming about had come upon the animal, and knowing him to be Jefferson Pettigrew’s property, untied him and rode him back to Oreville.
The dwarf threw up his hands in dismay.
“The horse is gone!” he said in his deep bass voice, “and now I must walk back, ten long miles, and get a flogging at the end for losing time. It’s hard luck,” he groaned.
The loss was fortunate for Fred and Otto who would otherwise have found it hard to keep up with the dwarf.