I must go furder back in the cane, but I won't go outen the
settlement, an' nobody shan't drive me out nuther, till I get my
hands onto them hundred an' fifty dollars. Then nobody won't ever
hear of me ag'in--Dan nor none of 'em. It's jest a trifle comfortin'
to know that that thar mean Dave can't do no more shootin'; he lost
his gun."
Yes, David's faithful friend and companion was gone. It slipped from
his grasp as he struck the water, and was now lying at the bottom of
the bayou. He felt the loss as keenly as Don Gordon would have felt
the loss of his fine breech-loader.
David thought he had never before been so nearly frozen as he was
when he struck the opposite bank of the bayou; but a few minutes'
vigorous exercise put his blood in circulation again, and then he
began to feel more comfortable. He followed the bayou until he
reached the lake, and then he plunged into the water again, and swam
across to the other shore. It was cold work, but he had no boat, and
so there was nothing else he could do. He was a very forlorn-looking
object indeed, when he reached the cabin. Dan, who was still sunning
himself on the bench, must have thought so, for when his brother
first appeared in sight, he jumped up and stared at him as if he
could not quite make up his mind whether the approaching object was
David Evans, or one of the dreaded haunts that lived in the General's
lane.
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