"Maybe the interest is in Ina," said Haldidge with a sly look.
"I understand you, but you are mistaken. He has assured me as much. No; there seems nothing of that feeling at all in him. He loves her as he would a child, but no more."
"How was it that he made that awkward tumble into the Indians' hands, when they gave you such a hard run for it?"
"That was all through my own blundering. He was cautious enough, but I became so impatient and careless that I precipitated him into the danger which would have been fatal to any one else. It was no fault of his."
"I am glad to hear it, for it seemed odd to me."
This conversation which we have recorded, it must not be supposed, was not carried on in an ordinary tone, and with that earnestness which would have lessened their habitual caution. It was in whispers, and hardly once during its progress did the two look at each other. Sometimes they would not speak for several minutes, and then exchange but a single question and answer.
It was now toward the middle of the afternoon, and it became pretty evident that the night would have to be spent in this neighborhood.
"I do hope that Seth will make his appearance before dark," remarked Graham.
"Yes; I hope he will, for it will be dangerous when we can't see him."
"He must be aware of the threatened danger."
"Yes; I am pretty confident that he is not very distant."
"Hallo! what's that?" whispered Graham.
"Ah! keep quiet; there's something going on there."
A death-like silence reigned for a few minutes; then, a slight rustling was heard close by Haldidge, and as he turned his alarmed gaze toward it, the form of Seth Jones rose to his feet beside him.
"Where did you come from?" asked Graham in astonishment.
"I have been watching you. In a little trouble, eh?"
"We've found out we've got neighbors."
"They're not very nigh neighbors leastways."
"What do you mean?"
"There isn't one in a quarter of a mile."
