“You’re sure o’ whar they’re goin’, capting?” asks one of his following. “You know the place?”
“Better’n I know the spot we’re now camped on. Ye needn’t let that trouble ye. An’ most all o’ ye know it yourselves. As good luck has it, ’taint over twenty mile from our old stampin’ groun’ o’ last year. Thar, if we let em’ alone, everythin’ air sure to be lodged ’ithin less’n a month from now. Thar, we’ll find the specie, trinkets, an’ other fixins not forgetting the petticoats—sure as eggs is eggs. To some o’ ye it may appear only a question o’ time and patience. I’m sorry to tell ye it may turn out somethin’ more.”
“Why d’ye say that, capting? What’s the use o’ waitin’ till they get there?”
Chapter Forty One.
A repentant sinner.
Nearly three weeks after Borlasse and his brigands crossed the Sabine, a second party is seen travelling towards the same river through the forests of Louisiana, with faces set for the same fording-place.
In number they are but a third of that composing the band of Borlasse; as there are only four of them. Three are on horseback, the fourth bestriding a mule.
The three horsemen are white; the mule-rider a mulatto.