Presently, with a start, Dave broke the spell that bound him. He made one swift leap, caught the torch from behind and sent it whizzing away through the open doorway. Some sparks dropped to the floor and as they fell his foot covered them.
The Indian, taken completely off his guard, turned in consternation. The youth sprang upon him and bore him to the floor. Then Joseph Morris leaped in, and together they dragged the miscreant out of the building.
A crowd of half a dozen had collected. They saw the torch and saw the red man pushed and dragged into the open. They waited for an explosion, but it did not come. Then all began to breathe easier.
“Dave, you saved us all!” It was Joseph Morris who spoke. The great beads of perspiration were standing out on his forehead.
“I—I am glad if I did,” answered the youth. Now the danger was past, he found himself trembling like a leaf.
“Kill that Injun!” was the cry. “Kill him! He ain’t fit to live!”
Swiftly the crowd turned on the red man. The Indian had sunk on the ground in a heap. His wound had broken afresh and he was gasping heavily. Barringford ran to him, hunting knife in hand. Then the old frontiersman shook his head and motioned the others back.
“He’s dying, men,” he said. “Let him alone.”
“Are ye sure o’ thet, Sam?” asked one man.
“Dead sartin.” And Barringford’s words proved true, for the Indian expired soon after.