“If you wish, you may tell the story of your treachery. Though I would rather not hear it, I will listen. You know the disaster you have hurled upon this army.”
“I am, to some extent, perhaps, to blame for the non-attack on the stockade. I am willing to take all the blame on my shoulders at any rate. They are strong,” and he shrugged them, “and can carry heavy loads.”
“But let the Night-Hawk talk of his dog acts,” cried Splitlog, stepping nearer Funk, furious almost beyond control.
“I was about ready to give my signal when we beheld a suspicious figure creeping from the fort to the river. We followed, and captured a man—Matt Hunter by name. He was a deserter and told us much. Captain Strong is a prisoner in the fort. His designs have been discovered. Wolf-Cap is in the fort.”
“I thought you held him captive?” said O’Neill, at this juncture.
“I did, but Cole wanted to trust his honesty, and Duke White here interfered. They fought and Cole got the best of Duke; but, after all, Wolf-Cap escaped.”
“But what about the man you caught?”
“The boys gave him to the Wyandots by the river. He’s yonder now with Sawyer, the other deserter. He was carrying a woman from the fort.”
“Stealing a woman, eh? Go on, Roy Funk, this is a romantic story you’re telling. Took some hard thinking no doubt.”
An illy-concealed sneer pervaded the officer’s words; but the outlaw chief did not appear to notice it.