“He will return to the cabin with me,” asserted Frank confidently.
“No take him back!” declared Old Joe. “Get out way, or shoot um quick!”
“Don’t try it,” advised Merry. “I am his brother, and I know what is best for him.”
“He different from you,” said the redskin. “He like me better. He going to be like red man.”
“Hardly!” exclaimed Frank dryly. “I have no time to waste words with you, Crowfoot; but I tell you now, for the first and last time, that I will not have you monkeying with my brother or trying to thwart me in my plans. If you——”
The old Indian was enraged, and he suddenly flung his rifle up to shoot Frank straight through the body, but, with a sharp cry, the boy made a leap and knocked the barrel of the weapon aside.
Just in time! The rifle spoke, and the bullet whistled close to Frank.
“Thank you, Dick,” said Merriwell coolly, as he swiftly advanced. “That is the second time you have kept this old heathen from salting me, and I’ll not forget it.”
He stopped close to Old Joe, at whom he looked fearlessly.
“Crowfoot,” he said, “you have twice attempted my life. If you try the trick again, I’ll shoot you down like a dog! I don’t want to do it, but I do not propose to have you make a target of me. I could have shot you just now. See here!”