“What is it?” asked Town.; “all questions are fair.”
“You’d shoot me, Town., if I’d tell you.”
Town. was surprised by this blunt remark.
“I will give my word as security for your life,” he said.
“Then I’ll tell it. Rollo, the Ranger—” he began, but broke abruptly off in consequence of the angry crack of a rifle, and the “whizz” of a bullet in close proximity to his head.
“’Tarnal furies!” he exclaimed, as his keen eyes swept the surrounding forest for the enemy that had fired the shot; “what a bad shot that war. Come, lad, tramp quick—tramp lively!”
The old scout quickened his steps and lengthened his strides, until Town. was scarcely able to keep pace with him.
The young settler wondered why he beat so hasty a retreat in the face of a single foe as the shot proved. To him it looked as though the indomitable courage of the old scout was deserting him. However, Old Tumult seemed to have read his thoughts, and said:
“I don’t fight Ingins like every ole hunter generally does, Town.—”
“No, I see you run from them sometimes.”