“Who may that be?”
“William Barlow.”
Colonel Van Curter leaped to his feet. “I swear by the bones of my father, that if Boston Bainbridge dares to show his face again in Good Hope, I will crop his ears off close to his head, and turn him off.”
“Boston Bainbridge!”
“Ay.”
“That is the very man who came between us. You must know, then, that I followed this man Barlow into the woods, and soon had him at bay, curse him! We were down upon the earth, tearing at each other’s throats, so closely grappled that we could not use our swords, when this man rushed in and parted us, swearing to strike the one who made another stroke—a daring, resolute fellow, I saw at a glance.”
“You astonish me. It can not be the man I mean. The Bainbridge I knew is a sneaking dog of a hawker, who has made more mischief in Good Hope than any ten men I know. But he is a pitiful wretch, who will do almost any thing for money.”
“This man was as determined-looking a fellow as I ever saw in my life, I am certain; and looked as if a fight was meat and drink to him. And what is more, your friend Barlow deferred to him as to a superior.”
“It can not be that there are two. The fellow showed some spirit to-day, and all the information I got out of him did not amount to much. You may be right; it may be the hawker—confound him! But I am at a loss. Did he have his pack?”
“No. He was armed, though, with musket, knife and pistols, and looked an ugly customer.”