"I don't know—sh!"
The footsteps of some one were now heard, breaking through the bushes. Dingle and Jenkins bent low, and in a moment discerned, looming up against the light in the village, the dark form of an Indian.
"By gracious! he's coming right onto us. Where's my gun?"
"Shut up, or I'll break it over your head," replied Dingle.
The hunter loosened his knife in his belt, for an encounter seemed unavoidable. The Indian came right straight ahead, in a line toward them; but when within ten feet, unconsciously to himself perhaps, he turned to the left and passed on, thus escaping a collision and his own doom at the same time.
"Now don't stir from hyer till I come back," whispered Dingle, again.
"Just wait a minute, Dick; I want to ask a question or two."
"Spit them out, quick then!"
"How long are you going to be gone?"
"P'r'aps an hour or two."