At this, he gives Harkness a shove which sends him staggering into the arms of the mulatto.
The latter, drawing a long stiletto-like knife, brandishes it before the ex-jailer’s eyes, as he does so, saying:
“Mass Harkness; keep on afore me; I foller. If you try leave the track look-out. This blade sure go ’tween your back ribs.”
The shining steel, with the sheen of Jupiter’s teeth set in stern determination, is enough to hold Harkness honest, whatever his intent. He makes no resistance, but, trembling, turns along the path.
Once out of the glade, they fall into single file, the narrow trace making this necessary; Woodley in the lead; Clancy second, holding his hound in leash; Heywood third; Harkness fourth; Jupiter with bared knife-blade bringing up the rear.
Never marched troop having behind it a more inexorable file-closer, or one more determined on doing his duty.