my pocket, and I paused when I had mounted my horse to pull a trail of wild grapevine down over the blaze on the tree. It did not matter how many men came looking for it now: they would have no way of finding out where to go. At most, there would be only one or two with Peaceable Sherwood at Duck's Head Lake; and a chance — more than a fair chance — that there would be nobody at all, and I could have him entirely to myself at last.
The voice of common sense still kept making itself heard fretfully from time to time above the clatter of my horse's hoofs as I pelted up the mountain road as fast as I could go. It went whining on in a nagging way that I could not be absolutely certain of taking Peaceable Sherwood singlehanded, especially if he had even one or two followers with him. And it was imperative to take Peaceable Sherwood; without him his whole organization would fall apart like beads when the string is pulled out. What I ought to do was return to the Shipley Farm first and come back with ten or fifteen men of my own in order to make sure.
But the Shipley Farm was a good five miles in the opposite direction — by the time I got there and rounded up my reinforcements and returned, Peaceable Sherwood would probably either have finished his business or else become tired of waiting and escaped me again. Besides, if there was any more delay I could not hope to reach Duck's Head Lake much before night, and I did not want to go thrashing through a strange forest with fifteen rangers looking for Peaceable Sherwood in the dark. Fifteen rangers would undoubtedly make too much noise even in broad daylight. It was actually wiser to take care of the whole matter myself. I was a better tracker than anyone else in the company, except possibly Lieutenant Felton — and Lieutenant Felton was sickening at the moment with a touch of malaria; it would really not be fair to drag him out for such a long expedition on such a stifling afternoon. Anyway, I was going to take Peaceable Sherwood singlehanded if it killed me; and that was the end of the question. I would no longer put up with being harried and defeated and mocked as I had been that summer. I wanted to ride triumphantly back to the Shipley Farm with Peaceable Sherwood tied to my stirrup, and find Eleanor Shipley standing at the gate again to watch me come in.
By this time I was well up the mountain, where the road turned first into a rough trail and then petered out altogether. My horse had begun to stumble with weariness too, and I patted him apologetically when I dismounted to cut through the rest of the forest on foot.
"Cheer up, old boy, we'll both be famous in the morning," I said, as I saw to his needs before I left him. "People will be pulling hairs out of your tail to remember us by."
Once afoot in the forest, the going was slower, especially as I had only been in the region twice before on hunting trips, and did not remember the landmarks very clearly. I had also been rather foolish not to go back to the Shipley Farm for my moccasins and hunting shirt. My riding boots were hot and uncomfortable for walking, and my buff-and-blue uniform would have made a fine target for any marauder who happened to catch sight of me among the trees. My sword kept getting in my way too; and it was my only weapon.
Mercifully, however, there seemed to be nobody abroad in the forest. By using every ounce of woodcraft I possessed, I managed to make fair speed. All the same, it was almost evening by the time I came through the last of the pine trees and out under the great rock fall where the hills came together at the edge of Duck's Head Lake. The sun was going down in the west all crimson and gold, and the clear waters of the lake rippled with dissolving colors that melted into dark greens and blacks under the shadow of the towering rocks.
Standing on the highest rock, apparently watching the sunset, was a figure in a scarlet uniform, exactly where the signet on the toy landscape had
The voice of common sense still kept making itself heard fretfully from time to time above the clatter of my horse's hoofs as I pelted up the mountain road as fast as I could go. It went whining on in a nagging way that I could not be absolutely certain of taking Peaceable Sherwood singlehanded, especially if he had even one or two followers with him. And it was imperative to take Peaceable Sherwood; without him his whole organization would fall apart like beads when the string is pulled out. What I ought to do was return to the Shipley Farm first and come back with ten or fifteen men of my own in order to make sure.
But the Shipley Farm was a good five miles in the opposite direction — by the time I got there and rounded up my reinforcements and returned, Peaceable Sherwood would probably either have finished his business or else become tired of waiting and escaped me again. Besides, if there was any more delay I could not hope to reach Duck's Head Lake much before night, and I did not want to go thrashing through a strange forest with fifteen rangers looking for Peaceable Sherwood in the dark. Fifteen rangers would undoubtedly make too much noise even in broad daylight. It was actually wiser to take care of the whole matter myself. I was a better tracker than anyone else in the company, except possibly Lieutenant Felton — and Lieutenant Felton was sickening at the moment with a touch of malaria; it would really not be fair to drag him out for such a long expedition on such a stifling afternoon. Anyway, I was going to take Peaceable Sherwood singlehanded if it killed me; and that was the end of the question. I would no longer put up with being harried and defeated and mocked as I had been that summer. I wanted to ride triumphantly back to the Shipley Farm with Peaceable Sherwood tied to my stirrup, and find Eleanor Shipley standing at the gate again to watch me come in.
By this time I was well up the mountain, where the road turned first into a rough trail and then petered out altogether. My horse had begun to stumble with weariness too, and I patted him apologetically when I dismounted to cut through the rest of the forest on foot.
"Cheer up, old boy, we'll both be famous in the morning," I said, as I saw to his needs before I left him. "People will be pulling hairs out of your tail to remember us by."
Once afoot in the forest, the going was slower, especially as I had only been in the region twice before on hunting trips, and did not remember the landmarks very clearly. I had also been rather foolish not to go back to the Shipley Farm for my moccasins and hunting shirt. My riding boots were hot and uncomfortable for walking, and my buff-and-blue uniform would have made a fine target for any marauder who happened to catch sight of me among the trees. My sword kept getting in my way too; and it was my only weapon.
Mercifully, however, there seemed to be nobody abroad in the forest. By using every ounce of woodcraft I possessed, I managed to make fair speed. All the same, it was almost evening by the time I came through the last of the pine trees and out under the great rock fall where the hills came together at the edge of Duck's Head Lake. The sun was going down in the west all crimson and gold, and the clear waters of the lake rippled with dissolving colors that melted into dark greens and blacks under the shadow of the towering rocks.
Standing on the highest rock, apparently watching the sunset, was a figure in a scarlet uniform, exactly where the signet on the toy landscape had
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