ian innkeeper, with his national
habit of wagging a free tongue, has besides a sort of liking for Sime,
as an antipathy towards Sime's old enemy, Jim Borlasse. The consequence
of which has been a tale told in confidence to the hunter, about the
twelve men late sojourning at the Choctaw Chief, that was kept back from
the Sheriff on the morning after their departure. The result being,
that in choice of a route to Texas, Woodley has chosen that by which
they are now travelling. For he knows--has told Clancy--that by it has
gone Jim Borlasse, and along with him Richard Darke.

The last is enough for Clancy. He is making towards Texas with two
distinct aims, the motives diametrically opposite. One is to comfort
the woman he loves, the other to kill the man he hates.

For both he is eagerly impatient; but he has vowed that the last shall
be first--sworn it upon the grave of his mother.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Having reached the river, and crossed it, Clancy and his travelling
companions, just as Borlasse and his, seek relaxation under the shade of
the trees. Perhaps, not quite so easy in their minds. For the
murderer, on entering Texas, may feel less anxiety than he who has with
him a runaway slave!

Still in that solitary place--on a path rarely trodden--there is no
great danger; and knowing this, they dismount and make their bivouac
_sans souci_. The spot chosen is the same as was occupied by Borlasse
and his band. Near the bank of the river is a spreading tree,
underneath which a log affords sitting accommodation for at least a
score of men. Seated on this, smoking his pipe, after a refection of
corn-bread and bacon, Sime Woodley unburdens himself of some secrets he
obtained in the Choctaw Chief, which up to this time he has kept back
from the others.

"Boys!" he begins, addressing himself to Clancy and Heywood, the mulatto
still keeping respectfully apart. "We're now on a spot, whar less'n two
weeks agone, sot or stud, two o' the darndest scoundrels as iver made
futmark on Texan soil. _You_ know one o' 'em, Ned Heywood, but not the
tother. Charley Clancy hev akwaintance wi' both, an' a ugly
reccoleckshun o' them inter the bargain."

The hunter pauses in his speech, takes a whiff or two from his pipe,
then resumes:--

"They've been hyar sure. From what thet fox, Johnny, tolt me, they must
a tuk this trail. An' as they hed to make quick tracks arter