Light as the evening breeze touches the fallen leaves and moss carpets of the forest, her feet fell upon the cold earthen floor of the passage. A square of light marked the curtain of the ante-chamber, and here Adele paused. The sound was no longer a hum, but every word of the speakers was uttered with distinctness, so that the listener could understand the conversation fully.
Evidently there was an addition to the number, for there was a voice heard—rough, boisterous, well suited for the utterance of round, rolling oaths. Probably, this man was “Big Dick,” spoken of by the porter, as one who might possibly make his appearance before morning. This man was speaking.
“He came so almighty suddent along, and made sich a cussed noise, that I thort he war one of us, a course. To make sure, I hailed him, but he didn’t stop, only licked up his hoss, an’ come faster than ever. I knowed ef it war any of they boys, they wouldn’t be doin’ any sich tricks, so I throwed my shootin’-iron up to shoulder, and let drive whar I thort he mout be. The noise stopped most mighty suddent fur a second, and then I heard a hoss gallop away in sich a manner, as said he hadn’t any rider aback of him. It war a good shot to make in the dark.”
What answer would have been given, was interrupted by the entrance of yet another man, who immediately exclaimed:
“We’ll hev to lay low and keep dry for a few hours, my coves, for there’s more’n fifty red-skins hoverin’ ’long that way: and they ain’t comin’ very peaceably, either. They’re bound to blaze, from their looks.”
“Whar yer from, Bill?” said Big Dick, “an’ whar did ye see them red-skins? I’ve jist been a tellin’ how I wiped someone out in the pass, here, but I didn’t see anything like Injun signs.”
“I war down South Branch, somewhat on the scout; and I see lots of people goin’ about, all of ’em with lot of arms and nary plunder, but those red-skins are strikin’ fur the pass, strait, an’ from the looks of ther top-knots, I should take ’em to be Crows.”
“What the —— are Crows Injuns doin’ up here?” queried Dick.
“On the war trail, I guess.”
“Waal, there’s no ust a pickin’ a fout with ’em, and it’s a hard matter to meet with anybody, we don’t,—so we kin jist keep under kiver, an’ act cautious till they’re cleared out.”