“Curse him!” growled Red, as O’Brien was called, “we’ll settle his hash this time!”
“Yes,” returned Lavine. “By gar, I get even with zat man to-day if I swing for it!”
“We’ve got to be pretty keerful,” said Red. “He’s a moighty handy man with his fists, begorra!”
“His feests I fear not,” replied Lavine. “What are his feests against zis knife?” and he ran his hand significantly across the razor edge on an evil-looking hunting knife. “Do you zink he weel hev a pistol?”
“No fear uv that,” said Red. “He’s too cock-sure of himself.”
Just at the turning of the road they had felled a tree and with true woodmen’s skill had arranged it so that some of the heavier branches lay across the road. They thought that Flannigan, on reaching the obstruction, would be forced to get down from the wagon in order to remove it and clear a path. While he was bending over, they planned to spring upon him from behind with their clubs. Taken by surprise, they figured that he would be helpless in their hands. The knives they held as a last resort. Their thought of vengeance went no further than to give the prostrate man a terrible beating and perhaps maim him for life. It would be safer than actually murdering him and the pursuit was likely to be less keen than if they had killed their man. Yet their knives were there and in a pinch neither one would have flinched from using them should it come to that.
“He’ll soon be here now,” said Red, looking at the sun.
Lavine responded with a growl and an oath, and the two outlaws drew their belts tighter and waited for the coming of their prey.
In the meanwhile Jack had caught sight of the Junction from the brow of the last hill. His watch told him that he had an hour and a half to spare and he knew that he could easily make the distance in fifteen minutes, leaving plenty of time. He stepped out briskly and came to the edge of a little brook. It was only about a foot deep and there were stepping-stones leading from one bank to the other. As he neared the farther bank, a round stone slipped from under him and he plunged forward, striking his head against a tree stump on the edge of the brook. The world swam around him and then his senses left him.
How long he lay there he never knew. When he opened his eyes he looked around bewildered. His legs were wet to the waist where he had lain in the brook. He carried his hand to his forehead that ached horribly and when he withdrew it, found it covered with blood. Where was he? What had happened?