Hank makes his Appearance
The sound of hoofs trampling through the wood was the first thing that
came to Joe's ears as he sprang from his spruce bed and looked about
him. Someone was coming towards the camp through the forest, while
about the still-smouldering fire lay the figures of his sleeping
comrades.
"Peter and Mike coming back, I expect," he told himself. "But
supposing it were Hurley?"
There was just a bare possibility that the sounds were produced by that
individual, and, lest it should be the case, Joe gripped a thick stake
and awaited events. Then a shout escaped him, while an answering
welcome hail sounded through the camp and set every one of the sleepers
stirring.
"I see you right enough!" shouted Peter, laughing as he dropped from
his horse. "I seed Joe grip a hold of a stake when he heard us,
thinking maybe we was Hurley. He was game, he was, to put up another
fight with the bully. But we ain't, you see, lad, and so let's get to
breakfast."
It appeared that Peter had met with Mike late the previous night, and
the two had rested beside the railway; and now they came into the camp,
bringing with them a couple of followers. These proved to be
Indians--not the Red Indian one sees often pictured, but lean men with
bent figures, and dressed in shabby buckskins. Their black hair was
trained back from their faces and tied at their necks. Their thin
faces were seamed and lined as if with many troubles, while their bent
figures, their wrinkles, and their general appearance gave one the
impression that Mike had brought old men with him.
"But don't you think it," said the policeman, when he dropped from his
horse and was seated near the fire awaiting a meal. "They're men I've
employed this many a time, and first-rate trackers. One's known as
Fox--and a fox he is, if one judges by his cunning--the other hasn't a
name, so far as I have ever gathered, so he's 'Bill' to me, and answers
the name promptly. They ain't much good at talking, either of 'em,
though they can speak English. I've known them sit all day long round
the fire and not pass more than a dozen words between them; but clever
trackers they are, and that's why I've brought 'em. Now, boys,
something to eat, and then away."
By now the fire had been coaxed into a blaze, while a number of steaks
which George had prepared overnight, and had already skewered, were
soon sizzling over the flames. Tom came running back to camp from a
stream to which he had been sent, and at once the kettle was hung in
position. As for Joe, he felt a new lad indeed. He might never have
come by an injury, though his head was tender enough when one touched
it. He slipped from the camp with Jim, and the two, having walked a
little way down the stream, stripped off their clothing and had a
splendid dip.
"Regular dodge of an Englishman," grinned Jim, as he sat on the bank to
allow the sun's rays to dry him. "Your Englishman comes to a foreign
part and plunges right into the first pond he happens on. There's
hardly another man that's so keen on bathing. But it freshens a
fellow--eh, Joe? How are you this morning?"
"Hungry," came the prompt answer. "But I felt I wanted a livener, and
that dip has done it. Suppose we shall ride right off as soon as
breakfast is finished?"
"You've hit it; Peter and Mike has brought along some spare hosses.
There was Peter's to begin with, and Mike's; then there was two in my
rig and two in Jack Bailey's, making six in all. With the Indians we
muster just eight, so two more hosses were wanted. You see, we ain't
going to take rigs with us. They'd be in the way, most likely,
especially in this sort of wooded country. We shall ride; Peter's
brought along the saddles."
When they returned to the camp and were in the midst of their
breakfast, the voluble Peter explained matters fully.
"Me and Mike hit right up agin one another last night," he said, "and
in course we got to gassing. We allowed as rigs warn't no sort of use
away up in the country to which this Hurley had made, so it war clear
that extry hosses was needed. Wall, we fetched 'em. Hank Mitchell,
one of the best fellows you could hap upon, lent 'em willingly, and
he's coming to join us. He's bringing guns, too, for they're to come
along in a freight train from Sudbury fust thing this morning; so's
saddles and tinned provisions. Hank has also arranged fer two of his
hands to come right along here and clear back with the rigs, fer it
wouldn't do to leave 'em here fer more than a day or two. People's
mighty honest in these parts, but there might arrive someone who was a
stranger, and who jest happened to be in want of a rig same as one of
these. So they'll be took back to the rail track, near Hank
Mitchell's, and wait thar till we returns. Why, ef that ain't Hank
hisself! He has been extry nippy."
A short, spare man came cantering up to the camp at that moment, his
approach having been hidden from all by the trees which surrounded
them. He dropped from his saddle with as much ease as the average man
steps from one board to another, and walked swiftly forward.
"Hallo, mates, how'dy?" he said softly, as if he were afraid of having
his voice heard. "My boys are close handy with the guns and sichlike.
Which one's Joe, him as I've heard of?"
"Thar," cried Peter, grinning, and pointing to our somewhat bashful
hero.
"Do yer drink?" asked Hank abruptly, stepping across till he was close
to him, and regarding Joe with a pair of eyes which might be described
as actually piercing.
"No," was the equally abrupt answer. Joe, in fact, stared hard at this
newcomer. He didn't quite know what to make of him, though, to be
sure, he rather liked his looks. Hank's nut-brown face, clean-shaven,
unlike most others in those parts, with its deeply-lined forehead and
the whisps of grey hair showing beneath his hat at the temples, spoke
of one who had seen many years. But it was a kindly face, kindly and
keen; that, perhaps, was the better description. Every movement of the
little man was jerky. His lips, when he spoke, opened sharply and
closed again, as if he were anxious to hide his teeth. His eyes
blinked with spasmodic suddenness. He even seemed to breathe
differently from other men.
"Smoke?" he demanded, firing the question off as if he were glad to be
rid of it, and yet observing Joe all the while, as if he would
penetrate to the centre of his brain and steal the very thoughts he was
thinking.
"Sometimes," admitted Joe, somewhat guiltily; "not often; shall do
later."
"Huh! Larned farmin' yet?" asked Hank, with comical shortness.
"Trying," grinned Joe, beginning to see fun in this catechism, and
taking a decided liking for the newcomer; "but I ain't through yet. I
admit that I don't know everything. There's a few things yet that
Peter can teach me."
"Ha! Ha! Ha!" shouted the latter. "He's had you, Hank. He's always
like this is Hank," explained Peter. "He don't 'low no one to be
friends till he's sort of axed him all sorts o' questions. And guess
he jest don't care much fer a Britisher as comes out here and knows
most everything. Git ahead, Hank, boy," he bellowed. "Joe ain't one
o' them. He's one of the right sort; he's a good plucked 'un."
"You kin shake," said Hank, his comical gravity unmoved, though there
was just the suspicion of a flutter of an eyelid. "Lad, I'm proud to
meet yer. The chap as could stand up to Hurley are worth knowing.
Shake!"
Joe shook. He danced almost on the toes of one foot, for this lean
little man had a hand grip of iron. His fingers closed round our
hero's as if he meant to crush the very bones, while those curiously
piercing eyes never left the young fellow he was addressing.
"I say," roared Joe, "now try again."
He offered his hand for the second time, while those who observed Hank
saw distinctly a twinkle of his eye. He even smiled, a rarity with
Hank, and responded at once to our hero's invitation. This time Joe
returned the grip with interest. Some weeks of farming, of rough work
in Peter Strike's service, had hardened his muscles, and anyone could
see that he was filling out. Indeed, but for the fact that Hank had
taken him unawares, Joe's fingers would not have received such a
crushing. Now he let them close round the diminutive Canadian's like a
vice, and fixed his eyes on those two piercing orbs which he found so
wonderfully attracting. The two closed in to one another till but a
short space separated them, and then and there exchanged a second grip,
the grip which spoke of friendship, of strength, of firmness, of
virtues which the man who lives his life in the open and meets danger
and privation often enough prizes above all other virtues. As for
Hank, the suspicion of a smile in his eyes went promptly. He was all
seriousness. Indeed, all of a sudden he seemed to view Joe from an
altogether different standpoint. A minute before he had been greeting
a green lad, one who had shown pluck and deserved encouragement; but
now he seemed to have dipped somewhat into the spirit which kept Joe
going, which dominated every waking moment of his life, which made of
him the youthful leader of that band of volunteers aboard the emigrant
ship, and again urged him to stand fast in Tom's behalf in spite of
Hurley the bully. Intuitively Hank seemed to guess that Joe had
balance and grit, and promptly he acknowledged the fact.
"I'm fair glad to meet you," he said. "From now on you've a friend."
Then they sat down round the fire, while their comrades watched their
faces for some few minutes.
"Hank ain't often done a thing like that before," Peter whispered to
Joe a little later. "He's just the queerest bird I ever met, and don't
never show no feeling; but he's took to you, jest as a duck takes to
water. He's got grit has Hank. I've knowed him foller a chap as had
robbed a widow woman, follow him for two weeks on end, and take him
almost aboard the ship he had booked by. That meant determination, or
grit if you like to call it so. But here's the men with the guns, and
guess Mike's getting restless. Now jest take the word of one who's
been out here a while and has met bad men. Ef you sight Hurley, don't
stand hankey-pankey. Back in England you'd call to him and then give
chase ef he didn't round up. Out here you kin call to him; but ef his
hands don't go sky high above his head, and that in a jiffy, give him
lead--lead, boy, or else he'll be putting daylight through your own
valuable carcass. This ain't a game we're after; we're following a man
that's murdered a woman, his own wife, and who's got nothing but the
hangman's rope before him. He won't be over particular what happens to
those who pursue him. Now, Mike, what's to do?"
"Fall in and arrange the order," cried that latter, swinging his leg
across his horse. "First, Tom there, stamp out the embers of the fire.
Things haven't got dried up yet awhile, for the weather hasn't been
overhot. But it's always as well to be careful; a forest fire is
something wuss than chasin' a murderer. Now, Fox and Bill go ahead.
Ah, they're there already--that shows that they've had practice. Then
I'll follow them close. Jack Bailey and George can ride along side by
side. Jim and Tom can come along next, while I guess that Peter and
Hank had best ride right in rear, taking Joe with 'em. It'll teach him
a heap, ef only he keeps his eyes and his ears open. Boys, there's
grub and stuff to bring along, so divide it up and drop it into your
saddle bags."
Some little while before, Hank's men had put in an appearance, bringing
stout saddles with them, all of which were fitted with two canvas bags.
There were rifles also for each one of the party, as well as revolvers
and the necessary ammunition. The provisions consisted of tinned
goods, as well as the stuff which the thoughtful Jack Bailey had
brought with him. It took but a little while to share out all the
things, and very soon the cavalcade was mounted. Then, having seen
Hank's men ride off with the rigs trailing behind them, the party set
its face to the north and rode off in wake of the murderer. And a very
formidable and business-like little band they appeared. We have
already described the Indians known as Fox and Bill. They sat their
horses bareback, as if they were part and parcel of their mounts, while
not once had either addressed the other or one of the white men they
were to lead, save in the case of Mike, when all that passed seemed to
be a succession of incomprehensible grunts. For the rest, Mike himself
made a fine figure of a horseman, and sat head and shoulders above
everyone, for his horse was big like himself. Jack and George followed
some ten paces behind him, boyish eagerness on their faces. Then came
Jim and Tom, none the less eager, while in rear of all the lanky Peter
bestrode his horse with legs swinging loosely on either side, while
Hank sat his saddle for all the world as if he were a statue. The man
was taciturnity itself. He was almost as reserved and silent as the
Indians, and for watchfulness, there never was such a man.
"Guess them two Injuns has made a mistake," cried Peter, after a while,
pointing away from the track they were following. "There's marks of
hosses to one side. Hurley stopped jest here."
"And rested," agreed Hank, with brevity. "They ain't missed that. No
Injun could. They've seed that Hurley rested there some while, and
then went on agin. They didn't need to go and look; they kind of knew
it."
"How?" asked Joe curiously, himself puzzled to see how the Indians
could have divined such a matter.
"Simple," came the response. "We've been going this hour and more.
Wall, reckon it war evening when Hurley abandoned the rig and pushed
on. He travelled an hour, when it fell dark. He jest camped for the
evening. That thar place was his fust stopping point. It ain't of no
importance except to tell us that he's got so much start of us this
morning, besides what he made by getting off before we broke camp.
Young chap, this here's a sorter stern chase. Time's everything in it.
Hurley's got, say, three hours' start, and the country ahead is wooded.
Wall, we've got to make up that three hours afore we can come up with
him, and stopping jest to see what sort of a bed he made last night
ain't a-going to help us. See?"
Joe did; he smiled at Hank. "Never even crossed my brain," he said.
"Somehow, when one tackles a job like this for the first time, one
doesn't see things as does a practised hand."
"In course you don't," agreed Hank, winking back at him. "It's jest
like the farming; some chaps think they know everything, but they
don't. Most folks is bamboozled right from the beginning. They has to
learn; and tracking wants learning jest like farming. Now, jest you
see here; how should I know as Hurley warn't more'n three hours ahead?"
It was a conundrum. Joe puzzled and puzzled, and then gave up the
riddle.
"Don't know," he said, disappointment in his voice. "How?"
"In course you don't know. How could you, youngster? But I'll larn
yer. This here's a wooded country, as you've agreed. Wall, now, most
all the time we're steering in and out amongst the pines, and every now
and agin you or me has to separate because there ain't room. Hurley's
got two hosses--don't ferget that--and he can't so easily separate,
'cos he'd lose a hold of the led hoss. So he has to ride round the
narrow places or squeeze through. He squeezes through at times, and
what happens? Jest this."
Suddenly Hank drew in his mount at just such a spot as he was
mentioning, where the trees were grouped in a thick cluster, and the
track led between two of them, both on the high road to become giants.
Hank leaned from his saddle and pointed to a spot on one of the trees
about the height of his stirrup iron.
"Hurley barged through that 'ere place," he said, "and, so as his leg
shouldn't get jammed, he pushed his foot out and rid the hosses as much
to the other side as he could. Wall, his thick, hob-nailed toe came
agin this tree and chipped the bark. I've seen a dozen similar places."
Joe regarded the spot closely. It was evident, now that the fact was
pointed out to him, that Hurley's toe had been responsible for the
injury.
"Wall?" demanded Hank. "See?"
"The place he's left? Yes," assented Joe; "but----"
"Jest so--wants larnin'," asserted Hank dryly. "Now, see here. This
aer a deepish cut, and a jagged one. It's bleeding; there's gum oozing
from the place, and it aer fresh and sticky. That shows as the wound
was done not so long ago. Ef it was last night, then the gum would
have balled down below, while the surface of the wound would hardly be
sticky, but gettin' dry. Now, how do I know as Mike or his Injuns
ain't done it passing along?"
"Because the gum has balled to a certain extent already, while I see it
oozes very slowly from the wound."
"Good fer you," cried Hank, evidently pleased with his pupil. "That's
a fust lesson. That there gum ha' balled jest a little, as you've
said, and there's some of it still oozing. Wall, now, it stands to
reason that a man don't go riding around in a wood like this when it's
dark, fer he'd get knocking his ugly head agin the branches. So he
either lies down and sleeps, or dismounts and leads the hoss. This war
done by a mounted man, and sense it ain't been light more'n three
hours, and Hurley couldn't ride during the dark, why, there's my
question answered. Even ef we hadn't seen the place where he camped,
this here wound in the pine would ha' told us all the story. Jest you
put that in yer mouth and chew it."
Joe did with a vengeance. The two rode on side by side for three
hours, hardly exchanging another syllable; but all the while our hero
was observing. If he had imagined previously that he was a fairly
lively individual, quite wideawake and aware of his surroundings, he
was beginning to discover, particularly in the company of this sharp
little Hank, that he was by no means a marvel.
"See whar Hurley stopped fer a bite?" asked Hank one time, as they
pressed along across a more open part of the forest. "You didn't?
Wall, jest ride back a pace and take another squint. It aer fairly
talking to yer."
They returned some twenty paces, and Joe looked about him eagerly. But
not a sign did he see to convince him that Hurley had pulled up and
eaten. Hank grinned, one of those irritating and superior grins. His
dried-up face became seamed with subdued merriment, while Joe went the
colour of a geranium; and then, when in the depths of despair, he of a
sudden made a discovery. "Ah!" he gasped.
"Jest so," said Hank encouragingly.
"He hitched his reins over a branch, and the horse jerked his head and
pulled the limb off the tree. There it is. There's the place where it
broke, and, by jingo! there's gum below, slightly balled already.
Besides, there's a piece of paper a little to the side. Probably it
contained the food he was eating, while underfoot there are horses'
hoofs in all sorts of positions."
Hank grinned the grin of a man who is elated. "That 'ere Mike'll have
to look to hisself, and so will the Injuns," he said. "Soon we'll have
you leading this here party. But you have got the hang of the thing
now, lad. Never get tired of looking about you. There's tales to be
read in most every spot. P'raps it's a bear that's passed. Then you'd
see a footmark same almost as ef it was a barefooted human. Or you may
drop on the splayed-out markings of a moose. That's the thing to fire
the blood of a hunter. Maybe there's not a sign, but only trees and
rocks and stones that seems to tell nothing; but there's always
something to be learned. A wolf has had his quarters here, fer there's
a hollow, and there's bones in heaps all round. Or there's been a
prospecting party through the place, fer there's stumps that has been
cut with an axe, and not broke off rough as ef the wind had done it.
Tracking aer a game that don't tire, never! It's a thing that a man
aer best at ef he's been born to it; but it can be learned, same as
farming. You ain't too old to start, not by a long way."
Not till the sun was directly overhead did the little band come to a
halt, and then only to allow them to eat a little, while girths were
loosened to give the horses every chance of resting.
"Steady and sure does it," said Mike, as he smoked his pipe and leaned
against one of the trees. "Of course, we've got to push the pace
whenever we're able, and I reckon we've been doing that all along.
Anyway, we've made up some of the distance, for single horsemen can get
along through these trees quicker than a chap who's got one to lead.
It's when he gets to open country that he'll make the most of the
hosses; for he'll be able to change over, and that means a heap, don't
it, Hank?"
"A heap," answered that individual jerkily. "But he has to sleep,
Mike. That's where we'll have him."
"Eh? How's that? I ain't followed."
"Jest like this. He's fresh now we'll 'low, and ef he's able he'll
push on all through the night. To-morrow he'll still be going; but
when night falls he'll be wanting a rest, and so, you may say, shall we
be. Now, ef half this outfit pushes on, Hurley has to move ahead, and
it'll be slow travelling. Our chaps'll go afoot, so as to rest the
hosses. At dawn the rest of us rides along the trace after 'em, and
can cover the ground mighty quick in comparison, seeing that it's
daylight. Wall, we leave half the hosses with the fust party, who're
resting, and push ahead. Our chums gets a four-hour sleep and comes
along after. Both of us is fresh that night, while Hurley can't hardly
keep his eyes open. It aer as clear as daylight."
The little man shut up like an oyster. He drew a pipe as diminutive as
himself from an inner pocket, crammed it with tobacco while his eyes
rested dreamily on the forest, and then struck flint and steel with
such unerring skill that he soon had the weed smouldering.
"It aer as clear as daylight," he puffed at the company. "Ef things
goes in the ordinary way, Hurley'll be taken just when I've hinted, and
he'll be in jail come the week-end."
"And supposin' they don't go along in the ordinary course?" asked Mike,
who, from his experience, thought highly of the taciturn Hank. "It
ain't of much use to set out follerin' a criminal and expecting him to
do jest as you want him to. You've got to make allowance fer all sorts
of strange turns. He's making north; he might fall in with some
wandering Indians, or a prospecting gang, and get off along with them
because of their help."
"Yep!" answered the usually silent Hank, with accustomed brevity.
"Guess he might. Even so, we ain't done with him. This outfit's out
to catch a ruffian who wants catching badly."
"You bet!" agreed Peter, with a quick shake of his head.
"A brute who's been and murdered his wife," cried Jim, his face
flushing.
"The sort of bully whose capture we must make our duty," declared Jack
Bailey, not the least enthusiastic of the party.
"Yep!" responded Hank. "So it comes to this, Mike. Supposin' he does
do something we can't yet guess at, why, where's the odds? We still
goes on after him. And sooner or later, barrin' regular bad luck,
we'll have him. That's what I'm out fer. Guess it's the same with you
and the other partners."
All that afternoon they pushed on through the forest, sometimes
pressing their way through closely-grown pine trees, and then through
thick masses of maple, of spruce, of birch, or of the scarlet sumac.
At times streams cut across their path--for Canada is a well-watered
country for the most part--and more than once had to skirt the edge of
great lakes. But always Fox and Bill went ahead without hesitation.
Not once had they met with a break in the trail. Their ferrety eyes
hardly seemed ever to look to the ground. It seemed, indeed, as if
they followed the trail of the murderer by intuition alone. When night
came pine stumps were set fire to and the chase continued.
"You kin say as we're making even way with him," said Hank, who still
rode with our hero. "He's got to find his way amongst the trees, and
he's walking, I guess. Wall, so are we. But we've pine knots to light
us, and kin follow the trace easy. It's to-morrow night that'll be the
teaser."
The early morning found the devoted little band emerging into a stretch
of open country. But there were trees again in the distance, and
always the tracks left by the fugitive went due north.
"A child could follow all the way," declared Hank, as they went on at a
steady walk, sometimes trotting to change the monotony. "This here's
grass country, and no man can ride through it at this season without
leaving a trail. I wonder he ain't tried some tricks to throw us off,
sich as droppin' into a stream and riding down along the bed; but he
ain't, and it begins to look as ef he knew there was someone after him
and was feelin' hustled. All the same, he's 'way ahead; you can't get
a glimpse of him across the open."
Halting for meals, and to give the horses a rest, the band had reached
wooded country again that evening, and about eight o'clock came to a
halt.
"Here's where we camp," said Mike. "Now we'll divide up. Some of us
has a feed and a smoke, and then goes on ahead on foot; t'others has a
sleep along of the hosses, and then rides on at the first streak of
dawn. Who's going on?"
It took but a little while to settle this point, and since it was
agreed to by all that young fellows like Joe and Tom needed sleep more
than did older men, and, moreover, had harder work to do without it,
these two remained in the camp, Hank and Peter staying with them. Fox
and Bill, with a curt grunt, assented to the fact that they should
proceed at once. Mike, of course, was one of the forward party, while
George and Jack Bailey and Jim completed its numbers.
"Reckon you ain't got no great need to hurry," said Hank, when the meal
was finished and pipes had been lighted, while a tin pannikin was being
passed round with an allowance of whisky for all who cared for it.
"Guess Hurley'll think we won't be out to-night, and he'll take things
easy. In course he might camp too, when you might drop nicely upon
him. Jest hold yerselves in, for it's little sleep you'll get till we
have him."
About an hour later the little band selected to move on in advance left
the camp in Indian file, Fox leading, with Bill immediately behind him.
They left their horses with their comrades, so as to give them a good
rest.
"Yer see," explained Hank, "hosses is queer cusses. They kin stand a
deal of gruelling work ef they're fed right, and most of these here is
corn fed. But you can't drive 'em too hard. There's no other animal
that breaks his heart sooner, and that's a fact. They're that game,
they'll keep on till they're ready to drop. Therefore, you've got to
save 'em, particularly seein' as Hurley has got two to our one, and so
kin rest 'em in turn. Now the sooner we get stretched out the better."
There being no need to set a watch, all who were remaining in camp at
once wrapped themselves in their blankets and threw themselves upon the
beds already prepared--consisting of the leafy tips of small spruce
trees, than which nothing can make a more comfortable couch--and,
needless to say, their eyes closed almost at once, for they were weary
after their travels, and they slept till the first streak of dawn
awakened Hank.
"Up you gets, one and all," he sang out. "Jest give them hosses a
mouthful of water, and then we'll ride. Time we come along with the
others we'll feed, and then away agin."
That was Joe's first experience of working on an empty stomach, and
truth compels us to add that he found the experience a trying one. He
felt hollow and sickly. The sharp morning air made him ravenous; he
simply longed for the hour for breakfast.
"Guess you do feel holler," laughed Hank, when our hero told him of his
feelings. "I mind the time when I was jest a slip of a lad and felt
jest as you do. But I was away huntin' with my father then, for he
made a tidy pile of dollars by gettin' skins and selling 'em in
Montreal, and sometimes over the border in America. Wall, he were a
hot 'un. He never seemed to want to eat, only when he was set down to
it--gee!--he could put away double as much as the average man. It was
then that I used to get that sinking sensation. We'd be out at
daylight winter mornings, with the thermometer 'way down below zero,
and the air that crisp it made you jest long for a bite. And I've been
two days and more without a trace of food. That's mighty hard, you'll
believe me. Howsomever, you stick it out this time. You'll soon get
used to waitin'."
However, when three hours had passed, during which the party had made
very rapid progress through a country thinly covered with trees, the
famishing feeling with which Joe had been assailed had worn off to a
considerable degree.
"Feel as though I could go along comfortably all day without food," he
told Hank. "I'm not nearly so hungry."
"You jest wait till you smell a steak cookin'," came the laughing
rejoinder. "Gee! Won't yer mouth water jest! But we're mighty near
them folks now. Seems to me as ef I could smell a fire burnin'."
A mile farther along they came upon their comrades camped in a little
clearing. Mike at once came towards them.
"He was camped sure enough last night," he said; "but Hurley's a smart
'un. He heard us comin', and streaked straight off; but he ain't far.
We've picked up a heap of lost way, and to-night we'll nab him. You
ain't fed?"
"None," answered Hank, dropping from his horse. "These here lads is
fairly shoutin' fer food."
They made a cheerful party round the fire, and Joe sniffed expectantly
as George skewered some steaks and set them to frizzle over the blaze.
And oh, the enchantment of that open-air meal and this camping life!
Joe revelled in it. Never had he tasted such juicy and succulent meat.
Never before had steaming tea seemed so very entrancing. And think of
the future! The excitement of this chase had grown upon him. In a
measure he was sorry for Hurley; but then he was a brutal murderer, and
such people must not expect anything but strict justice.
"We'll have him come to-night," said Mike, with assurance, as he led
the way to the horses. "You folks had better see to yer guns. There's
never no saying when this Hurley won't stand to his ground and put up a
fight. Ef he does, wall, things will be flyin'. He ain't likely to be
so careless as to miss a chap who stands out clear under his sights, as
ef he was askin' fer a bullet."
The announcement sent a flush to Joe's and to Tom's cheeks. They rode
forward eagerly, wondering when the silence of the forest might be
broken by a rifle report, and whether, supposing that event happened,
either one of them would drop out of his saddle.
"Makes a chap tingle all over," Joe admitted to Hank. "But I ain't
going to let this Hurley scare the life out of me, not by a long way."
"Good fer you," came the answer. "I ain't afeard of his bullets, only
lest he should beat us and give us the goodbye. That'd be tarnation
bad fortune."
The result of this long chase was, in fact, still very much in the
balance, and it remained to be seen whether Joe and his friends would
yet lay their hands on the murderer, and if so, whether our hero would
be fortunate enough to recover his dollars and that vastly important
letter.