They moved northward from the camp in the ravine and crossed the Mosquito Creek just above the home of the Doyles. Once over the creek, the hunters again spread out single file fifty yards apart.
They had gone but two hundred yards when the signal to halt was whispered along the line. Owen Brown reported to his father:
"There"s a cabin just ahead."
"We haven"t charted it in our survey?"
"No."
"It will not do to pa.s.s it," said Brown.
"They might give the alarm."
"Surround it and do your duty," was the stern command.
Owen called three men, cautiously approached the door and knocked.
Something moved inside and a gun was suddenly rammed through a c.h.i.n.k in the walls. The muzzle line could be seen in the flash of a star"s light.
The four men broke and scattered in the brush. They reported to the leader.
"We want no fight with this fool. No gun play if we can avoid it. We"ll take our chances and let him alone. He"ll think we"re a bunch of sneak thieves. I don"t see how we missed this man"s place. It can"t be five hundred yards from the Doyles". Back to your places and swing round his cabin."
Owen quickly gave the order and the hunters pa.s.sed on. The first one of the marked prey had shown teeth and claws and the hunters slipped on under the cover of the darkness to easier game.
The Doyles were not armed.
At least the chances were the old shotgun was not loaded, as it was used only for hunting.
The hunters crouched low and circled the Doyle house, crawling through the timber and the brush.
A hundred yards from the stable, a dog barked. Owen had carefully marked this dog on the day of the survey. He was merely a faithful yellow cur which Doyle had brought from Virginia. He looked about seven years old.
If crossed he might put up a nasty fight. If approached with friendly word by a voice he had once heard, the rest would be easy.
The signal was given to halt. The hunters paused and stood still in their tracks. Owen had taken pains to be friendly with this dog on the day of the survey. He had called him a number of times and had given him a piece of bread from his pocket. He was sure he could manage him.
In a low tone he whistled and called the dog by name. He had carefully recalled it.
"Jack!"
He listened intently and heard the soft step of a paw rustling the leaves. The plan was working.
The dog pushed his way into an open s.p.a.ce in the brush and stopped.
The hunter called softly:
"Jack, old boy!"
The dog wagged his tail. The man could see the movement of kindly greeting in the starlight, and ventured close. He bent low and called again:
"Come on, boy!"
The dog answered with a whine, wagged his tail, came close and thrust his nose against the man"s arm in a welcome greeting. With his left hand the man stroked the warm, furry head, while his right slowly slipped the ugly sharpened cutla.s.s from its scabbard.
Still stroking the dog"s head and softly murmuring words of endearment, he straightened his body:
"Bully old dog! Fine old doggie--"
The dog"s eyes followed the rising form with confidence, wagging his tail in protest against his going.
The hand gripped the bra.s.s hilt of the cutla.s.s, the polished steel whizzed through the air and crashed into the yellow ma.s.s of flesh and bones.
His aim was bad in the dark. He missed the dog"s head and the sword split the body lengthwise. To the man"s amazement a piercing howl of agony rang through the woods.
He dropped his sword and gripped the quivering throat and held it in a vise of steel until the writhing body was still at last.
Inside the darkened cabin, the mother stirred from an uneasy sleep. She shook her husband and listened intently. The only sound that came from without was the chirp of crickets and the distant call of a coyote from the hill across the creek.
She held her breath and listened again. The man by her side slept soundly. She couldn"t understand why her heart persisted in pounding.
There wasn"t the rustle of a leaf outside. The wind had died down with the falling night. It couldn"t be more than eleven o"clock.
Her husband"s breathing was deep and regular. His perfect rest and the sense of strength in his warm body restored her poise. She felt the slender forms of her little girls in the trundle bed and tried to go back to sleep.
It was useless. In spite of every effort her eyes refused to close.
Again she was sure she had heard the dog"s cry in the night. She believed that it was an ugly dream. The dawn of a beautiful Sunday morning would find all well in the little home and her faithful dog again wagging his tail at the door asking for breakfast.
She listened to the beating of her foolish heart. Wide awake, she began to murmur a prayer of thanks to G.o.d for all His goodness and mercy in the new home He had given.
As Owen"s hands slowly relaxed from the throat of the lifeless body he seized a handful of leaves and wiped the blood from the blade and replaced it in the scabbard.
He rose quickly and gave the signal to advance. Again crouching low, moving with the soft tread of beasts of prey, the hunters closed in on the settler"s home.
The keen ears of the mother, still wide awake, caught the crunch of feet on the gravel of the walk. With a heart pounding again in alarm she raised her head and listened. From the other side of the house came the rustle of leaves stirred by another swiftly approaching footstep. It was so still she could hear her own heart beat again. There could be no mistake about it this time.
She gripped her husband"s arm:
"John!"
He moaned drowsily.
"John--John--"
"What"s matter?" he murmured without lifting his head from the pillow.
"Get up quick!"
"What for?" he groaned.