“It is strange. But look here, Mr. Simonds,” and the Major brought his fist down heavily upon the table, “if I had a regiment of men like that courier to send to Davidson, we would have no more trouble with the slashers and other rebels.”
“You’re about right, Major. But I’m wondering why he refused to tell us the name of that ringleader. I must get White to work at this. He may be able to find out, for he can do more with the Indians than anybody else.”
“I wish you would look carefully into this matter,” the Major replied. “If we can round up that ringleader, it may put a sudden stop to the whole trouble. I shall send half of my men to capture him if he can be found.”
WHEN THE BOW-STRING TWANGED
The little schooner Polly, of twenty tons burden, had come on the flood tide up through the Reversible Falls. She had then slipped out of the Narrows where the grey, weather-beaten limestone rocks frown high on both sides, and was clipping merrily across the big basin of Grand Bay straight for Beaubear’s River. She was well loaded, for over a dozen families were on board, with their household effects, together with a large supply of boards and shingles. In addition, there were the guns which Major Studholme was sending up river to William Davidson, the King’s purveyor.
It was a beautiful early June day, and as Jean Sterling stood close at the bow she thought that she had never beheld a more perfect sight. Everywhere she looked great sweeping forests were to be seen crowding to the very water’s edge. She breathed a deep sigh of relief, for she was glad to be speeding at last toward her new home in the wilderness. Surely there she would find refuge from the man who had been dogging her steps ever since she landed at Portland Point. He had not spoken to her after his defeat by Dane Norwood, but she knew that he had ever been near, following and watching her wherever she went. She thought, too, of him who had rescued her that night, and her eyes brightened. He had seldom been out of her mind since then, and she recalled again his pleasing presence and the words he had spoken. She wondered if she should ever see him again, or whether he had forgotten her altogether.
She was aroused by her father’s voice, and glancing quickly around she saw him coming toward her, and with him the captain of the schooner, Jonathan Leavitt.
“Been indulging in day-dreams?” her father asked.
“I believe I have,” she smilingly replied, while a conscious blush stole into her cheeks. “And why shouldn’t I?” she hastily added. “Who could help having daydreams in such a wonderful place as this?”
“I am glad to see you so bright and happy, dear. Poor Old Mammy is indulging in night-dreams, and moaning about our terrible lot.”
“Night-mares, I should say,” the captain laughingly corrected. “To hear her wail and lament one would think that we are all going to be scalped alive before morning.”