"
"We may thank our stars that they missed our trail," Diccon
answered.
We spoke no more, but, leaving the stream, struck again toward
the south. The day wore on, and still we went without pause. Sun
and shade and keen wind, long stretches of pine and open glades
where we quickened our pace to a run, dense woods, snares of
leafless vines, swamp and thicket through which we toiled so
slowly that the heart bled at the delay, streams and fallen trees, -
on and on we hurried, until the sun sank and the dusk came
creeping in upon us.
"We've dined with Duke Humphrey to-day," said Diccon at last;
"but if we can keep this pace, and don't meet any more war parties,
or fall foul of an Indian village, or have to fight the wolves
to-night, we'll dine with the Governor to-morrow. What's that?"
"That" was the report of a musket, and a spent ball had struck me
above the knee, bruising the flesh beneath the leather of my boot.
We wheeled, and looked in the direction whence lead come that
unwelcome visitor. There was naught to be seen. It was dusk in the
distance, and there were thickets too, and fallen logs. Where that
ambuscade was planted, if one or twenty Indians lurked in the
dusk behind the trees, or lay on the further side of those logs, or
crouched within a thicket, no mortal man could tell.
"It was a spent ball," I said.
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