“I fear this lad will trouble me much,” said Natty; “‘twill be a hard pull for the mountain, should they take the scent soon, and he is not in a state of mind to run.”
“Run!” echoed the steward; “no, sheer alongside, and let’s have a fight of it.”
“Peace!” ordered Elizabeth.
“Ay, ay, ma’am.”
“You will not leave us, surely, Leather-Stocking,” continued Miss Temple;
“I beseech you, reflect that you will be driven to the woods entirely, and that you are fast getting old.
Be patient for a little time, when you can go abroad openly, and with honor.”
“Is there beaver to be catched here, gal?”
“If not, here is money to discharge the fine, and in a month you are free.
See, here it is in gold.”
“Gold!” said Natty, with a kind of childish curiosity; “it’s long sin’ I’ve seen a gold-piece.
We used to get the broad joes, in the old war, as plenty as the bears be now.
I remember there was a man in Dieskau’s army, that was killed, who had a dozen of the shining things sewed up in his shirt.
I didn’t handle them myself, but I seen them cut out with my own eyes; they was bigger and brighter than them be.”
“These are English guineas, and are yours,” said Elizabeth; “an earnest of what shall be done for you.”
“Me! why should you give me this treasure!” said Natty, looking earnestly at the maiden.
“Why! have you not saved my life?
Did you not rescue me from the jaws of the beast?” exclaimed Elizabeth, veiling her eyes, as if to hide some hideous object from her view.
The hunter took the money, and continued turning it in his hand for some time, piece by piece, talking aloud during the operation.
“There’s a rifle, they say, out on the Cherry Valley, that will carry a hundred rods and kill.
I’ve seen good guns in my day, but none quite equal to that.
A hundred rods with any sartainty is great shooting!
Well, well—I’m old, and the gun I have will answer my time.
Here, child, take back your gold.
But the hour has come; I hear him talking to the cattle, and I must be going.
You won’t tell of us, gal—you won’t tell of us, will ye?”
“Tell of you!” echoed Elizabeth.
“But take the money, old man; take the money, even if you go into the mountains.”
“No, no,” said Natty, shaking his head kindly;
“I would not rob you so for twenty rifles.
But there’s one thing you can do for me, if ye will, that no other is at hand to do.
“Name it—name it.”
“Why, it’s only to buy a canister of powder—‘twill cost two silver dollars.
Benny Pump has the money ready, but we daren’t come into the town to get it.
Nobody has it but the Frenchman. ‘Tis of the best, and just suits a rifle.
Will you get it for me, gal?—say, will you get it for me?”
“Will I? I will bring it to you, Leather-Stocking, though I toil a day in quest of you through the woods.
But where shall I find you, and how?”
“Where?” said Natty, musing a moment—“to-morrow on the Vision; on the very top of the Vision, I’ll meet you, child, just as the sun gets over our heads.
See that it’s the fine grain; you’ll know it by the gloss and the price.”
“I will do it,” said Elizabeth, firmly.
Natty now seated himself, and placing his feet in the hole, with a slight effort he opened a passage through into the street.
The ladies heard the rustling of hay, and well understood the reason why Edwards was in the capacity of a teamster.
“Come, Benny,” said the hunter: “‘twill be no darker to-night, for the moon will rise in an hour.”
“Stay!” exclaimed Elizabeth; “it should not be said that you escaped in the presence of the daughter of Judge Temple.
Return, Leather-Stocking, and let us retire be fore you execute your plan.”
Natty was about to reply, when the approaching footsteps of the jailer announced the necessity of his immediate return.
He had barely time to regain his feet, and to conceal the hole with the bedclothes, across which Benjamin very opportunely fell, before the key was turned, and the door of the apartment opened.
“Isn’t Miss Temple ready to go?” said the civil jailer; “it’s the usual hour for locking up.”
“I follow you, sir,” returned Elizabeth “good-night, Leather-Stocking.”