McArthur was studying her face with a peculiar intentness, as if he were seeing her for the first time.
“What was his first name, Susie?”
“Donald.”
“Donald MacDonald?”
“Yes; there was lots of MacDonalds up there in the north country.”
“Have you a picture, Susie?”
A rifle-shot broke the stillness of the droning afternoon. Susie was on her feet the instant. There was another—then a fusillade!
“It’s the Indians after Smith!” she cried. “They promised me they wouldn’t! Come—stand up here where you can see.”
McArthur took a place beside her on a knoll and watched the scene with horrified eyes. The Indians were grouped, with Bear Chief in advance.
“They’re shootin’ into the stable! They’ve got him cornered,” Susie explained excitedly. “No—look! He’s comin’ out! He’s goin’ to make a run for it! He’s headed for the house. He can run like a scared wolf!”