“I must die, eh?”
“Just so.”
“When—now?”
“No. We’re going to take you down to the Indians at Fort Strong, and I guess the Night-Hawks will treat the settlers to a public execution. You and Silver Hand played it on us to-night. We were following the Armstrongs when you called us back.”
“So you came down here and hid in the old cabin?”
“Yes.”
“Whar’s my dog?”
“In the house.”
A twitch of pain followed by an angry pallor, came to the trapper’s lips, and the light of vengeance flashed in his eyes.
“Come, Frank, let’s be goin’,” said one of the outlaws at this juncture. “’Tis gettin’ day, an’ Splitlog may need us at Strong’s. We want to be there at the death.”