“You must lend him to Carl. We are going on an expedition in which you are to have an important trust. Can he have the horse?”
“If you will be responsible for him, yes.”
“Go with him, Carl,” said the captain, turning away. “Do not stop a moment to talk. Kill any one who attempts to stay you. I know you are good and true. Good-by, and all luck to you.”
In a few moments Carl Anselm, with the wampum belt girt about his waist, rode out of Good Hope. The captain stepped to the side of his horse for a parting word:
“Do you know William Barlow, the man who was in Good Hope last night?”
“I have met him and know him perfectly by sight.”
“He is my enemy. Do you fear him?”
“I fear no man,” replied the youth, drawing himself up proudly. “What would you have me do?”
“I tell you he is my enemy. Is not that enough for thee? Say, shall he die, if you meet? Will you give him a grave in the forest?”
“If knives are sharp or bullets dig deep—if water can drown or fire burn, when we meet he shall die.”