“What’s the matter, Bland?”
“I dunno,” lied the scoundrel. “I can’t make ’em work; perhaps you can, sir.”
Suddenly, almost without being aware of what was happening, Bart permitted his hot indignation to get the best of his judgment. Instantly, as he stepped out of the cabin, he blazed:
“You’re lying, Bland, and I know it! I am on to the whole dastardly game! You’re at the bottom of it, too! You have incited the men to mutiny. I know your plot, you treacherous whelp! I know you meant to get me over there for the purpose of assassinating me. The end of this business will be a rope for you, Bland. Go back and tell your dogs I am onto their game. Go back and bring them here. They will meet a hot reception!”
Texas Bland had been astonished, but now, quick as a flash, he whipped out a revolver for the purpose of taking a shot at Hodge, whose hands were empty. Rapid though he was in his movements, he was not quick enough, for within the cabin sounded the loud report of a rifle, and the bullet knocked Bland’s pistol from his hand, smashing two of his fingers.
CHAPTER XVI—CROWFOOT MAKES MEDICINE.
CHAPTER XVI.
CROWFOOT MAKES MEDICINE.
Although taken by surprise, the man looked at his benumbed and bleeding hand a moment, then pulled from his neck a handkerchief tied there and wrapped it around the mutilated member. By this time Hodge had his own pistol out, and Bland was covered.