“The worst is, that a party of red niggers, headed by Dick Garrett, made a rush at us last night, and took Mr. Wescott and the gal prisoners. I had a tussle with Dick Garrett, and one of them cussid reds hit me over the head with a hatchet, and I fell into the cellar. I do’no’ what drove ’em off, but they did not come down to raise my wool, and I’ve been too weak to git out without help.” “You don’t know which way they went?” “Don’t I tell ye they knocked the life clean out of me, the fust crack? I didn’t fairly git my senses back till I heerd ye talking. ’Tain’t above two hours sence they left.” “How many had Dick Garrett under him?” “Mebbe twenty, the ugliest-lookin’ lot of whites painted red you ever sot yer livin’ eyes on. I’ll be bu’sted ef they wouldn’t spile a lookin’-glass by jest peekin’ into it; darned lot of ruffi’ns!” “We must follow them,” hissed Melton, through his set teeth. “I’ll have the girl out of their hands, if I have to follow them into Black-Hawk’s village.” “See here; Black-Hawk do’no’ nothin’ ’bout it. The pizen cusses took his darter with ’em, but she sp’iled one chap, sure as you live. He got an arrer clean through him.” “She is a brave girl, Joe. Oh, how sorry I am that you are hurt.” “Hold hard; you ain’t goin’ without me, you know. One of your chaps wash out this cut, and put some plaster on it, and we’ll make it do. I’m goin’, you bet.” “I fear you are not strong enough.” “You be grannied! You see I’ve got a sort of snickering notion after that there Injin gal, and I’ll be blowed if I don’t help her.” In his border life Melton had picked up a slight knowledge of surgery, and he washed and dressed the wound as well as the limited conveniences at his disposal would admit. Having done so, Cooney Joe rose up, though somewhat “weak and staggering,” to use his own expression, and was ready to “fight or run,” as circumstances might require. “Now see here, cripples,” he said. “That carroty-headed son of a gun, Dick Garrett, is a whole boss-team, you bet ye. He’ll fight—he will—till the teeth meet in the flesh. Oh, you bet he is on it, now. He kin shoot, and when we foller him, we ain’t tracking Sacs, so look out for thunder.” “And he is in league with Black Will, and that scoundrel has a hundred ruffians at his beck and call,” said Melton. “We never should have had any trouble with the Indians but for men of his kidney.” “Now fur trailing,” said Cooney Joe. “Stand one side, you critters, and let the old man work! I’ve got a mark that can’t be beat, fur Dick wears the biggest moccasin of any man in the Nor’-west. Look around mighty spry, and when you find a track like a young canoe, that’s Dick Garrett’s hoof.”