[CHAPTER XIX]
ON GUARD
Ned Slade, who had started to run toward his quarry, all excited over killing the bear, stopped short at the sight of the party of redmen. Harvey Brill, too, was plainly at a loss over what to do.
“Indian bear!” repeated the leader of the Blackfeet. It seemed that he could speak some English, though previously he had talked only in his own guttural tongue. “Indian shoot—Indian bear,” he said, again scowling at our friends. The other redmen gathered in a circle back of their chief, and now it was noticed that they made no pretense of having no arms—their rifles were plainly in evidence.
“Guess we’re up against it, Mr. Brill,” murmured Ned, as he raised his rifle, intending to pump another cartridge into the firing chamber, and eject the discharged shell.
“Don’t!” suddenly exclaimed the Westerner, in a low but tense voice.
“Don’t what?” asked Ned.
“Don’t pump in another charge. This is a ticklish bit of work, Ned, and the least hostile act may make trouble. Don’t load your gun, or some of theirs may happen to go off—accidental-like. Keep cool, and I’ll see what can be done.”
“But can he claim our bear—the bear I shot before he did? There’s no doubt but that my bullet struck first, and the bear was almost down when he fired.”
“That’s right, my lad, but right doesn’t always go in this country. They’ve got the numbers. Still, I’m not going to give in without a kick. Of course it’s your bear, and a fine shot it was, too.”