Certain it was that he had not been so much as grazed by any of the arrows that the prowling redskins had discharged at him.
Ten minutes later as he swept round another turn in the gorge, he saw Shagbark riding a little way in front of the train. Inasmuch as the emigrants and Jethro were approaching each other, the distance had been considerably shortened thereby.
Shagbark the veteran never showed more amazement and fear, than when he caught sight of the riderless Firebug galloping toward him with the negro close behind. He stopped his horse, threw up his head and stared. Before Jethro could check his pony, the hunter demanded:
“What’s the matter? What does it all mean; whar’s the younker?”
“Dead!” was the fearful reply.
“How did it happen?”
Abner Fleming and several others caught sight of the African and rode hurriedly forward.
Jethro had halted his panting animal and replied:
“Ain’t sartin he’s dead, but dere ain’t much doubt ob it.”
“What bus’ness have ye to be here if anything went wrong with the younker?” thundered the hunter, with a dangerous glitter in his eyes; “why did ye leave him?”