Feathertop--an Indian chief noted for the number of
scalps which adorned his person--had been seen in the vicinity of the
small settlement.
McArthur, with a grim fixedness of countenance, saw to the priming of
his rifle for the fiftieth time; and Rosalind, with her father's
courage, examined her own weapon, which she had resolved to take with
her for safety if Golightly had to be requisitioned.
"Rosalind, those chaps will be on us to-night or to-morrow morning."
It was McArthur who spoke, and Rosalind knew that her own misgivings had
taken root also within her father's mind.
"Because of Feathertop?" she asked bravely.
"Yes. He is never lurking about unless he means business."
"Could David and Jim have been misinformed?"
"I don't think so."
"Then, father, I shall ride to the village."
[Sidenote: Rosalind's Resolve]
McArthur looked at his daughter. He saw her face, he saw her figure.
Both were alive with determination and courage.
"Rosalind, you will kill your mother if you attempt to do such a
thing."
"Don't tell her unless you are obliged. It is to save her that I do it.
Give her a rifle--keep her employed--let her think I am with some of the
neighbours. Father, we do not know if we shall be outnumbered. If we
are, what will happen? All your cattle will go--your whole property will
be ruined, and, worse than all put together, we shall probably lose our
lives in a horrible manner.
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