“No, I was shot down without warning. I heard the sharp report of the rifle, then felt the burning sensation of the bullet tearing through my side, and then—I knew no more, until I awoke from my swoon a moment ago.”
“I can not understand it,” said Kate, thoughtfully.
“Nor can I. I have not an enemy in the world, that I know of, and here too in the West I am a stranger; have only been here a few days; hardly time enough to make acquaintances, let alone enemies. Perhaps, though, it was one of the savages that attacked me; to them all white men are foes.”
“No Indian bullet stretched you on the earth,” said Kate, decidedly. “Had it been an Indian that shot you, he would have taken your scalp instantly, as a trophy of victory; such is the custom of the red-men. You must have been insensible for some time when I reached your side, for quite a little pool of blood, that had flowed from your wound, was on the ground, and, as I came up, a huge gray wolf stole away into the thicket, and a crow winged its flight up through the tree-tops. Had there been Indians near, the wolf and crow would not have been by your side.”
Winthrop shuddered when he thought of what his fate would have been but for the timely arrival of the girl.
“It is all a mystery to me,” Winthrop said, absently. “I can not understand why any one should desire my death.”
“And whoever attempted your life has a white skin, and not a red one; of that you may be sure,” said Kate, decidedly.
“I can not guess the riddle.”
Then for the first time to Winthrop’s mind came the thought of Virginia Treveling.
“And Miss Treveling?” he exclaimed.