When the heap that pressed upon him had been removed by the robber, the fresh air served to partially revive him, and the twisting of his finger by the desperado finished the business.
Mason, as I shall call my boy hero, for Custer had given him that name when addressing him, opened his eyes.
By the dim light of the stars and the new moon combined, he saw the figure of a man kneeling over him.
That it was a white man was evident from his clothes and hat, and also the bushy beard.
A pair of fine cavalry boots, stolen from some unfortunate officer, were slung across his shoulders, and he seemed burdened down with all sorts of plunder.
Mason waited to see no more.
The wrenching at his finger ceased, the man uttered a curse, and began to draw his knife.
Then the whole horrible truth burst upon the boy's mind.
Under the impulse of the moment he tightened his clasp, and actually pulled himself to his feet by means of the renegade, and after this had been accomplished, released his hold.
The matter did not rest here.