"Plutina been stolen," ran the summons. "Dan Hodges done it. Need help."
The name of Richard Siddon as the sender in itself told how desperate must be the situation, else Uncle Dick would not have summoned the suitor he had rejected. Zeke stared pitifully at Sutton. His eyes had the pathos of a stricken animal's. For a little, he seemed dazed by the unexpectedness of this evil. Then, very soon, rage mounted blackly. Sutton, listening, could not repress a shudder before the deadly hate in Zeke's voice.
"I'll kill Dan Hodges!" was the promise. The voice was low and even, but it roared in the ears of the listener. There was something terrifying in the stark savagery that showed in the mountaineer's tones and in the drawn, pallid face.
But, after the one outburst, Zeke maintained an appearance of hypocritical calm. Only in the tremulousness of his voice when he thanked Sutton did he betray the depth of his feeling.
In truth, he had new reason for gratitude in this emergency to the man who already had so befriended him.
"You'll want to start at once, of course," Sutton said.
Zeke nodded assent.
"Well, I think I'll go with you. Perhaps, I might help. It'll be better for you with somebody along."
Zeke offered a protest, but it was disregarded.
"I know Plutina," Sutton said, earnestly, "and I know you, Zeke. I want to help. Now, I wonder--"
He fell silent for a space, thinking deeply. When he spoke again it was with curt decisiveness: "It's hurrying things a bit, but not too much. I'll have you stay down there, Zeke, and get after the timber as soon as you have Plutina back."
Then, as the young man regarded him in bewilderment, he explained fully: "I've just heard a rumor that Grearson and Company are going to send a man down there. I'll beat them to it. I meant to start you off in a month or so. But you've learned all you need to here, and it's better to hurry, so as not to run any risk of my competitors getting in ahead. We'll get away on the train to-night."
So it came about that the two reached Norfolk late in the afternoon of the following day, after what had seemed to the tortured lover an eternity of listless crawling toward the mountains. Now Zeke felt no longer dismay over the rapid flight of the train, as in his first journeying, but only a fierce longing to cover the miles more swiftly. For he appreciated how great was the crisis. Plutina had written him of her part in the raid on Hodges' still, and she had expressed in some degree the apprehensions she felt. Zeke was sure that, somehow, Plutina's betrayal of the still had become known to the outlaw, and on this account the man had sought vengeance. The lover sickened at the thought of the form that brutal vengeance might take. Often, Sutton, covertly watchful, averted his glance that he might not see the despair on the mountaineer's face.