When at last the troops had disappeared, Shank bethought him of the food which Hunky Ben had so thoughtfully provided, and, sitting down on the brush couch, devoted himself to breakfast with a hearty appetite and a thankful spirit.
Meanwhile Captain Wilmot, having satisfied himself that the outlaws had fairly escaped him, and that Buck Tom was too ill to be moved, retired to a cool glade in the forest and held a council of war with the scout and Charlie Brooke.
“Now, Ben,” he said, dismounting and seating himself on a mossy bank, while a trooper took charge of the horses and retired with them to a neighbouring knoll, “it is quite certain that in the present unsettled state of the district I must not remain here idle. It is equally certain that it would be sudden death to Buck Tom to move him in his present condition, therefore some men must be left behind to take care of him. Now, though I can ill afford to spare any of mine, I feel that out of mere humanity some sacrifice must be made, for we cannot leave the poor fellow to starve.”
“I can relieve you on that point,” said the scout, “for if you choose I am quite ready to remain.”
“And of course,” interposed Charlie, “I feel it my duty to remain with my old friend to the end.”
“Well, I expected you to say something of this sort. Now,” said the captain, “how many men will you require?”
“None at all, Captain,” answered Ben decisively.
“But what if these scoundrels should return to their old haunt?” said Wilmot.
“Let them come,” returned the scout. “Wi’ Mr Brooke, an’ Dick Darvall, an’ three Winchesters, an’ half-a-dozen six-shooters, I’d engage to hold the cave against a score o’ such varmin. If Mr Brooke an’ Dick are willin’ to—”
“I am quite willing, Ben, and I can answer for my friend Dick, so don’t let that trouble you.”