"You must not let them come here," he was saying. "Keep them away for
a day or two, at least."

"I can't," the other replied. "They are on their way now, and should
be here sometime to-night."

At this Jean stepped forward and held out the noggin of rum. Dave
eagerly seized the mug, and drained it to the last drop.

"My, that's great!" he declared, smacking his lips. "Fill it again,
won't you?"

"No more now, Dave," his chief told him. "You may have another,
though, before you leave. And you must leave soon and stop those men.
They must wait until I am better."

"But I can't stop them, chief. They won't listen to me. They're out
for a big time, an' they're goin' to have it. An' besides, there's
that gang comin' from the Washademoak, an' they expect to meet them."

"Oh, Lord! I know it," the injured man groaned. "But that doesn't
make any difference. I want you to stop that first gang from coming
here. Tell them that I am very sick and can't see them now."

"Don't stop them, chief," Dave pleaded. "This is about the last chance
they'll have. The rangers are on the way, so I hear, so we must get
ahead of them. Davidson, the devil, has got wind of this."

"How did he hear?"