The sergeant glanced inquiringly at the lad by his side, and Little Peter nodded his head in reply to the unspoken question. The man was Fenton himself,--the one who had robbed the widows and the fatherless, had made the midnight attacks upon the defenseless people of Old Monmouth, had hanged trembling women from the limbs of trees, and tortured his helpless victims into revealing the places where their scanty savings had been concealed. He had been the leader of bands as desperate and wicked as himself, and the suffering and woe which the good people of the surrounding region had experienced at his hands can never be told. And now the man himself stood waiting for the wagon, in which were Little Peter, himself a victim of the pine robbers' cruelty, and his companions, to approach.
"Hold on!" called Fenton. "You're movin' too fast. What ye doin' here?"
The sergeant stopped his horses, and as Fenton approached and stood near the wheel, he said, "We've come down here to look for a man we want to find."
"I reckon I'll do as well as any other. Look at me! Ye're not goin' any farther, ye might as well understand that now as any time. Got a bottle with ye?"
The sergeant drew forth a bottle of brandy and handed it to the outlaw. Fenton took it, and raised one foot upon the hub of the wheel. As he lifted the bottle to his lips, his eyes fell upon Little Peter, who had been endeavoring to conceal himself behind his companion.
Instantly recognizing the lad, he shouted, "You here? You? I thought I left ye dead up by the mill the other day! You rascal! One whipping wasn't enough, was it? I'll give ye what ye deserve now!"
Fenton reached back with one hand to grasp the pistol he had thrust into his pocket when he had taken the bottle. Quickly the sergeant kicked the foot of Ted Wilson under the straw, and instantly the men arose, and before Fenton could act, had brought their guns to their shoulders and the reports rang out together.
The pine robber pitched heavily forward, and lay dead upon the sand. Oh, it was horrible, awful! A sensation of sickness, of faintness, swept over Little Peter as he looked down upon the face of the dead outlaw.
"What's that? What's that?" said Ted quickly.