"From Cadillac! From the commandant!" I ejaculated.
She nodded. It was her moment of triumph, but she passed it without
outward show.
"Read it. I am sleepy," she said, and yawning in my face she tumbled
herself back into the blanket and closed her eyes.
The packet was well wrapped and secured, and I dug my way to the heart
of it and found the written pages. The letter began abruptly.
"Monsieur," it said, "I send you strange tidings by a stranger
messenger. It is new to me to trust petticoats in matters of secrecy,
but it is rumored that you set me the example, and that you carried off
the Englishman dressed in this Singing Arrow's clothes. The Indian
herself will tell me nothing. That determined me to trust her.
"Briefly, you are followed. That fire-eating English lad that you have
with you--I warrant that he has proved a porcupine to travel with--must
be of some importance. At all events, an Englishman, who gives his
name as Starling, has made his way here in pursuit. He tells a fair
tale. He says that the lad, who is dear as a brother to him, is a
cousin, who was captured in an Indian raid on the frontier. As soon as
he, Starling, learned of the capture, he started after them, and he has
spent months searching the wilderness, as you would sift the sand of
the sea.
Pages:
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191