"It is well. The pale-face did paint letter with red. But—Red Fox foolish Indian. He lose letter on trail. He seek much—much—but no' find."
The game of bluff had succeeded. Now the boys knew for certain that the man was lying—that he had not been commissioned by either of their parents, and both laughed derisively.
"Trapped!" exclaimed Holden triumphantly. "You've got him tight as a rabbit in a gin, Bob."
How that sneering laughter scorched the redman's pride! It touched him at the quick, and caused him to writhe inwardly, until his fingers twitched beneath the folds of his blanket with eagerness to tear out the tongue that thus jeered at him. Yet the lads did not dream how near they were to tragedy as they laughed at the little comedy, with the chief actor sitting huddled at their feet. They did not notice how the Indian's eyes first measured the distance from the overhanging bank to the surface of the water, and then as quietly calculated the distance between himself and the lads.
"Yes, you were indeed foolish," resumed Arnold, "for you have shown us that your words were lies. My father never wrote such a letter, I am sure, for a red pencil is not a thing that he possesses. And if he were well enough to write, he would be well enough to come himself, instead of sending such a foolish Indian and a bad liar."
"At the same time," whispered Alf, "the chap must know something, or he wouldn't be here at all. We must find out that in some way or other."
"True," Bob said.
But there was no time allowed for considering what means to adopt to obtain further information, for just at that moment Red Fox uttered a wild cry, and sprang from the ground with the leap of a deer. Next instant Bob was gripped as in a vice and flung into the centre of the pool; then, with a snarl like that of a wild cat, the Indian sprang for Alf's throat.