“’Twould do her no good if we returned,” said I, “to be slain before her eyes. So long as she knows we are safe, there will be hope for her; and she is brave enough to defend herself till we come again.”
Ludar smiled bitterly. He knew, as I did, there was nothing in the words.
“My men,” said he presently to the Scots, “wherever Sorley Boy, my father, is, take me.”
“Sorley Boy is a fox that leaves no tracks,” said one of the men, “but we last heard of him at Bonandonnye.”
“Sail thither,” said Ludar, and fell into silence.
’Twas a strange return voyage that, down that broad river, on the ebb of the self-same tide which had carried us up. Neither of us spoke a word, but as we watched the banks and one another, we wondered if this could be the same world and the same men as a few hours ago. It was a relief presently to meet the salt sea air on our faces, and to hear ahead once more the angry roar of the waves at the river’s mouth.
Just as we reached the place where the channel, narrowing suddenly, tears its way through the sand into the ocean, a posse of horsemen dashed down on the western shore and shouted to us. So near were they, that I could see Tom Price among them, and beside him, that rascally Captain Laker, whom I had seen, or heard, last in Sir William Carleton’s garden at Richmond.
One of the rowers pulled me down to the bottom of the boat just as a volley of shot whizzed over our heads.
“Up now, and row like fiends,” cried our men when it had passed.
“Give me my pistol,” said Ludar, “I have at least one arm.”