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 was strained and hoarse. "Some Tory fiends hath tied him head downward on his horse and sent him off, thus!"

Mehitable uttered an exclamation of pity as Doctor Condit, whipping out his knife, cut the cruel knots of hemp around Sturgins and lifted his limp figure to the ground. Gray Hawk led the bodyservant's horse to a near by sapling in the little glen in which they were hidden, and there secured the beast.

"Can ye stay here, Sis, while I ride back a short ways to the river and get poor Sturgins some water?" asked John Condit, rising after a short examination of the unconscious man.

Mehitable shrank back instinctively. "Can ye not use snow, John?" she asked quickly.

Her brother shook his head. "He cannot drink snow, Hitty," he said quietly. He stood waiting for a moment; but only a moment. The next instant Mehitable had squared her shoulders.

"I'll stay, John," she told him bravely. "Only—" her voice broke a little—"only hurry, won't ye?"

"Aye." Nodding his head at her approvingly, John hurriedly mounted his horse and headed him back for the river. "Gray Hawk will watch o'er ye!"

But Mehitable, glancing at the Indian's aloof, silent figure beside the road, thought wistfully