“Yes,” added Lightning Jo, in a husky whisper, and with a wild, scared look; “and he ain’t fifty feet from where you’re setting this minute.”
CHAPTER XXII. THOSE WHO ESCAPED.
At this startling announcement Egbert Rodman sprung to his feet, with a bound that carried him entirely over the fire, striking Lightning Jo with such sudden violence as to throw him backward almost flat upon the ground.
“What in thunder is the matter?” exclaimed the scout, laughing outright as he regained his seat; “did he prick you?”
The young man was not looking at Jo, but backward in the gloom, in which he discerned the unmistakable outlines of the terrible nondescript, known as the Terror of the Prairie. It was but a glance that he gained; for, while he looked, it began silently retreating into the gloom, like a phantom born and sent forth by the night, and returning again to its natural element.
Like a flash, Egbert raised his gun, pointed toward the point where it had vanished, and pulled the trigger; but the percussion exploded without firing the charge that had been wetted, during its rush through the swollen canon.
“Never mind,” remarked Jo, with a laugh, “it done jist as much good as if you had fired it; so rest easy on that score.”
“You needn’t tell me that,” was the dogged return of Egbert, “every living creature has some vulnerable point, and that is no exception.”