“Well, I don’t think you’ll capture any more. I saw nobody as I came through the woods. What are you going to do with this crowd?”
“Brain ‘em,” said Macdonald laconically, speaking for the first time. Then he added reluctantly: “If any of ‘em tries to escape.”
The prisoners were all evidently too tired and despondent to make any attempt at regaining their liberty. Sandy winked over Macdonald’s shoulder at Yates, and by a slight side movement of his head he seemed to indicate that he would like to have some private conversation with the newspaper man.
“I’m not your prisoner, am I?” asked Yates.
“No,” said Macdonald. “You may go if you like, but not in the direction the Fenians have gone.”
“I guess I won’t need to go any farther, if you will give me permission to interview your prisoners. I merely want to get some points about the fight.”
“That’s all right,” said the blacksmith, “as long as you don’t try to help them. If you do, I warn you there will be trouble.”
Yates followed Sandy into the depths of the forest, out of hearing of the others, leaving Macdonald and his sledge-hammer on guard.
When at a safe distance, Sandy stopped and rested his arms on his gun, in a pathfinder attitude.
“Say,” he began anxiously, “you haven’t got some powder and shot on you by any chance?”