“What became of the girl?” Dane questioned.

“I don’t know.  She was gone when we got to the lodge.  It must have been the devil that killed Seth an’ carried off the girl.”

“Nonsense,” Dane impatiently chided.  “Don’t be such a fool as to believe that.”

“But if you’d seen the marks upon Seth’s throat, you’d say it was the work of the devil, an’ no human bein’.  An’ there are others who think the same, too.”

“What happened after that?”

“The gang came, an’ they chased Injun Sam.  But they made a mess of that job, an’ got scared ’most to death.”

“What did they chase Sam for?”

“Oh, some thought that he was the one who killed Seth an’ carried off the girl.  He had been seen hangin’ around, an’ so he was suspected.  But it wasn’t Sam, I tell ye.  It was the devil, an’ they found that out to their sorrow.”

“In what way?”

“They were campin’ one night in the woods when in a twinklin’ they were all knocked senseless.  When they came to, their guns, grub, an’ everything else was gone.  Now, if the Injuns had done it, they wouldn’t have left one of the gang alive.  They were ’most scared to death, so they are certain now that it was the devil.”

“So you haven’t heard anything more about the Colonel’s daughter?” Dane queried.

“Nuthin’.”

All this was valuable news to Dane, and it filled him with a great hope.  He was not superstitious, so the idea of the devil did not affect him in the least.  It was Sam, no doubt, who had rescued Jean, and was taking good care of her.  His heart now was lighter than it had been since her capture.  But where was Sam?  He must find him as soon as possible.  He knew where he generally camped, so he determined to go there at once.

In his excitement he had forgotten, however, about the slashers who had recently left the cabin.  But his mind reverted to them as he looked at the helpless, suffering creature before him.

“Where are the slashers going?” he asked.

“Against the mast-cutters,” was the reply.  “They have been plannin’ this fer some time, an’ are expectin’ to meet the men from the north to-morrow.  I hope to God they’ll git the surprise of their lives.  They’re devils, that’s what they are, an’ I hope the mast-cutters’ll kill every damn one of them.  Look what they’ve done to me an’ Tom.”

“When are they planning to attack the mast-cutters?”

“Sometime to-morrow night.  They’re plannin’ to murder every one of them.  An’ they’ll do it fer sure, the devils, unless the mast-cutters are warned.”