Thay's usen' 'round th' south side th' ridge. Ye jist lemme take
ye 'round." And Jim was forced to admit that he was having good luck
and no cause to complain of lack of sport. But he was growing tired
of the hills and impatient to return to the city, while his hatred of
the man whom he feared, grew hourly.
Jake, seeing that his employer was fast growing tired of the hunt, and
guessing shrewdly, from his preoccupied manner, that hunting was not
the real object of his stay in the mountains, became more and more
suspicious. His careless, good-natured ways and talk changed to a
sullen silence and he watched Whitley constantly.
One morning, just at daybreak, as they were walking briskly along the
big road on their way to a place where the guide said the game was to
be found, Take stopped suddenly, and motioning Jim to be silent, stood
in a listening attitude.
Whitley followed his companion's example, but for a minute could hear
nothing but the faint rustle of the dead leaves as a gray lizard darted
to his hiding place, and the shrill scream of a blue-jay calling his
sleepy mates to breakfast. Then the faint thud, thud, thud, of a
galloping horse came louder and louder through the morning mist.
Evidently someone was riding rapidly toward them.
"Whitley was about to speak, when the other, with a fierce oath and
a threatening gesture, stopped him.
"Git inter th' bresh thar' quick an' do's I tell ye. Don't stop t'
plaver. Git! An' gimme yer gun.
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