In the dim light of the candles, old Levi Armstrong looked at Mark Harmon and moved to his side.
“What do you think now?” he whispered.
“The foe on the hill is signaling the foe by the river.”
“Thus you interpret the shots?”
“Yes.”
“I differ. They are the result of Morg Sawyer’s treason. This roof still shelters his confederates.”
The young hunter caught the settler’s arm.
“For heaven’s sake, whom do you suspect?” he asked. “Tell me. We must act at once if we have traitors in our midst.”
The old man bent nearer to reply, when the whiz of a burning arrow startled him, and caused him to spring to the embrasure.
But the fiery missile missed the fort, and quivered in a stump near the river.