They left the spot, as the captain did not desire to invest in horse-flesh of that kind. It was in vain that they attempted to console Ten Eyck. His self-respect was gone; he had been betrayed, beaten, sold!
“Cheer up, man, cheer up,” said the captain, slapping him upon the shoulder. “Paul didn’t do it. He never had the head for it at all. It was all the work of that scoundrel, Boston Bainbridge.”
“The lightning blast him!” roared Ten Eyck.
“If I catch that fellow,” said Van Curter, “I will keep my promise to him. I will strap him up to a swaying limb and give him forty stripes save one.”
“I imagine you will have to catch him first,” answered the younger man, setting his teeth hard. “I have to thank him for his interference when I met Barlow in the forest, as well as for the blow which I think came from his hand last night. Barlow is not cool enough to knock a man down who has a sword in his hand. He would have used the steel.”
“Hot blood, hot blood, like your own. How did you miss him, last night?”
“It was dark enough, the only light coming from a taper at the back of my room. No, I do not wonder that I missed him.”
“Where did you send Carl Anselm?”
“I thought I told you. In my Indian-fighting I made the friendship of Wampset, a sachem of the Nipmucks. He gave me a wampum belt, and promised that, if I needed his help, and would send or bring that belt to him, he would come to my aid with all the men at his command.”
“Ah, that is good; where shall we meet them?”