"Hold on dar!" shouted Blossom; "dat aint de fair ting to leave a chap dat way."
Ned Preston could not desert the lad in this fashion, though it would not help him to stay behind and share his fate.
But his own disposition and the training received from his father led him to reproach himself for leaving him even for so short a time. He therefore stopped, and called back—
"Hurry, Blossom; every minute counts."
"Dat's jes' what I am a doin'," panted Blossom, struggling forward; "but I never could run as well as you——"
At that moment Ned Preston, who was looking toward the African, caught sight of an Indian close behind him. The warrior was in close pursuit, though the intervening vegetation for the moment prevented the young pioneer from seeing him distinctly. Enough was visible, however, to make his aim sure, and Ned brought his rifle to his shoulder.
"I hear de Injines! Dey're right behind me!" shouted the terrified Blossom; "get 'em in range, Ned, and shoot 'em all!"
Such a performance as this was out of the question, as a matter of course, but the boy was determined to do his utmost to help his friend.
When Ned raised his gun there was but the single warrior visible, and the sight of him was indistinct; but it was enough to make the aim certain, and the youth felt that one red man was certain to pay for his vindictiveness. At the same time he wondered why no others were seen.
But at the very moment the finger of Ned was pressing the trigger, the Indian disappeared as suddenly as if he had dropped through the mouth of a cavern. The target at which the gun was aimed had vanished.