As he uttered the last word a startled exclamation burst from the lips of the crowd.
A horseman had burst suddenly from the forest into their midst.
It was Rollo, the ranger! His horse was white with foam, and his own face streaked with perspiration and flushed with excitement.
“Away, men, away!” the youth shouted, wildly, “away for your homes, your wives and your children! The Indians are upon the post!”
“My God!” burst from the lips of Lionel Clontarf; “come, men, follow me! I can already hear the yells of the demons and the clash of arms!”
“But the body of Sherwood,” cried one, “what will be—”
“Let it hang away!” responded old Captain Storms.
Fear seemed to lend the settlers invisible wings as they ran through the woods toward the post, the boy ranger following close at their heels upon his almost exhausted animal.
Had the settlers, however, on turning their backs upon the hanging renegade, given the young ranger a second glance, they would have seen something that would have aroused some curiosity, if not suspicions, in their minds. Wild with excitement and fear, however, they ran on, the safety of their families uppermost in their minds.
When the river was reached, the settlers hastily embarked for the opposite shore in their canoes, the ranger swimming his animal behind.