The passions of these bad men were rapidly getting the better of their judgment. Each knew, by this time, that the other was playing a desperate game, and watching for some advantage. The Indian was resolved upon revenge, and securing the gold he knew the other had about him, and the Mormon felt that he was in a position of terrible peril.
While these two treacherous men stood glaring at each other, Esther Morse cowered in the undergrowth, panic-stricken by the sight of her mortal enemies. Waupee stood by her, pale, stern, and with glittering eyes, like a statue of bronze.
Waltermyer and Osse ’o stood behind a sheltering cliff that jutted, tower-like, on the plateau lapping over the face of the rocky wall, watching the scene with great indifference; both these men were too brave for any thought of peril to the woman they protected.
Esther Morse grew frightened as the two angry men moved nearer the place of her concealment, and starting up suddenly, placed her foot on a fragment of rock, in order to flee back into a more secure concealment. Her foot slipped, and she fell forward with a low cry.
Black Eagle know the voice, for he had heard its shrieks of pain before.
“Traitor! Out of my way.”
“Let the pale-face beware! The blood of the warriors of the Dacotahs cries aloud for vengeance. The thirsty earth is drunk with it.”
It required all the strength and influence of Waltermyer, to keep Osse ’o from interfering.
“It’s a fair fight,” said the frontiersman; “they are nothing but infernal reptyles anyhow. No, no; let them fight it out, for brutes as they are. It’s b’ar and wolf-hound; who cares which whips?”
The Mormon still advanced, intent only on seizing his prey; but the Indian spurred his horse between him and the thicket where Esther was concealed.