It was at this moment that an interruption came. Another form glided into the midst of the bushes. It was a second Indian, and a glance showed him the condition of affairs. Without stopping to use his tomahawk or his knife he kicked Barringford heavily in the left ear. Then followed other blows, and with a groan the old frontiersman stretched out on the rocks unconscious.
As the hold on his throat relaxed the Indian who had been in the death struggle gave a gasp and stared about him. The coming of his fellow warrior had undoubtedly saved his life.
“Where did that white man come from?” asked the second Indian, as he gave Barringford a close look.
“Cushina knows not,” was the faint reply. It was some time before the other could get back his breath.
“Are there others about?”
At this question Cushina shrugged his shoulders.
“Did he come from the cave, think you?”
“Perhaps—all of the whites were driven to that shelter, like so many dogs of the prairie.”
“It may not be so. Others may be at hand. We must be careful. Moon Eye has news of some soldiers. They may be marching in this direction.”
“Then Moon Eye himself is here?”