"A few hours ago I was your prisoner, and threatened
with the gallows; now you are mine; but, Major Dunwoodie, you are free.
There are men abroad who would treat you less kindly. Of what service
would that sword be to you against my weapon and a steady hand? Take
the advice of one who has never harmed you, and who never will. Do not
trust yourself in the skirts of any wood, unless in company
and mounted."
"And have you comrades, who have assisted you to escape, and who are
less generous than yourself?"
"No--no, I am alone truly--none know me but my God and _him._"
"And who?" asked the major, with an interest he could not control.
"None," continued the peddler, recovering his composure. "But such is
not your case, Major Dunwoodie; you are young and happy; there are those
that are dear to you, and such are not far away--danger is near them you
love most--danger within and without--double your watchfulness--
strengthen your patrols--and be silent. With your opinion of me, should
I tell you more, you would suspect an ambush. But remember and guard
them you love best."
The peddler discharged the musket in the air, and threw it at the feet
of his astonished auditor. When surprise and the smoke allowed Dunwoodie
to look again on the rock where he had stood, the spot was vacant.
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