Part 15 (2/2)

”Oh! Father, help me!” he murmured, as he stooped to drink. On rising, he continued to mutter to himself, ”If only a t.i.the of my ordinary strength were left, or if I had one good meal and a short rest, I could be there in three hours; but--”

Whatever Fred's fears were, he did not express them. He arose and recommenced his swinging trot with something like the pertinacity of a bloodhound on the scent. Perhaps he was thinking of his previous conversation with Tom Brixton about being guided by G.o.d in _all_ circ.u.mstances, for the only remark that escaped him afterwards was, ”It is my duty to act and leave results to Him.”

Towards the afternoon of that day Paul Bevan was busy mending a small cart in front of his hut, when he observed a man to stagger out of the wood as if he had been drunk, and approach the place where his plank-bridge usually spanned the brook. It was drawn back, however, at the time, and lay on the fortress side, for Paul had been rendered somewhat cautious by the recent a.s.sault on his premises.

”Hallo, Betty!” he cried.

”Yes, father,” replied a sweet musical voice, the owner of which issued from the doorway with her pretty arms covered with flour and her face flushed from the exertion of making bread.

”Are the guns loaded, la.s.s?”

”Yes, father,” replied Betty, turning her eyes in the direction towards which Paul gazed. ”But I see only one man,” she added.

”Ay, an' a drunk man too, who couldn't make much of a fight if he wanted to. But la.s.s, the drunk man may have any number of men at his back, both drunk and sober, so it's well to be ready. Just fetch the revolvers an' have 'em handy while I go down to meet him.”

”Father, it seems to me I should know that figure. Why, it's--no, surely it cannot be young Mister Westly!”

”No doubt of it, girl. Your eyes are better than mine, but I see him clearer as he comes on. Young Westly--drunk--ha! ha!--as a hatter!

I'll go help him over.”

Paul chuckled immensely--as sinners are wont to do when they catch those whom they are pleased to call ”saints” tripping--but when he had pushed the plank over, and Fred, plunging across, fell at his feet in a state of insensibility, his mirth vanished and he stooped to examine him. His first act was to put his nose to the youth's mouth and sniff.

”No smell o' drink there,” he muttered. Then he untied Fred's neckcloth and loosened his belt. Then, as nothing resulted from these acts, he set himself to lift the fallen man in his arms. Being a st.u.r.dy fellow he succeeded, though with considerable difficulty, and staggered with his burden towards the hut, where he was met by his anxious daughter.

”Why, la.s.s, he's no more drunk than you are!” cried Paul, as he laid Fred on his own bed. ”Fetch me the brandy--flask--no? Well, get him a cup of coffee, if ye prefer it.”

”It will be better for him, father; besides, it is fortunately ready and hot.”

While the active girl ran to the outer room or ”hall” of the hut for the desired beverage, Paul slily forced a teaspoonful of diluted brandy into Fred's mouth. It had, at all events, the effect of restoring him to consciousness, for he opened his eyes and glanced from side to side with a bewildered air. Then he sat up suddenly, and said--

”Paul, the villains are on your track again. I've hastened ahead to tell you. I'd have been here sooner--but--but I'm--starving.”

”Eat, then--eat before you speak, Mr Westly,” said Betty, placing food before him.

”But the matter is urgent!” cried Fred.

”Hold on, Mr Fred,” said Paul; ”did you an' the enemy--whoever he may be, though I've a pretty fair guess--start to come here together?”

”Within the same hour, I should think.”

”An' did you camp for the night?”

”No. At least I rested but one hour.”

”Then swallow some grub an' make your mind easy. They won't be here for some hours yet, for you've come on at a rate that no party of men could beat, I see that clear enough--unless they was mounted.”

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