The Indian’s blow was never struck. A form came bounding into the little cave; a tomahawk sunk, with a harsh, dull sound, into the skull of the Arapaho; and Flora was lifted in the arms of George Benning. Behind the partisan came White Shield, who coolly proceeded to relieve the fallen warrior of his scalp.
Flora had fainted, and Benning’s attention could not be withdrawn from her until she recovered her consciousness. Then he turned to the invalid, who had spoken to him.
“You were just in time, Benning,” said Wilder. “I was helpless here, and the red-skin had it all his own way. You have not only saved the life of Miss Robinette, but have gained something else. Do you see a gray scalp in that fellow’s belt? Take it out and keep it as you would your life, for much depends upon it.”
Benning obeyed, and looked at Flora as he did so.
“Is this the scalp you spoke to me about?” he asked.
“I suppose so,” she replied. “Mr. Wilder knows.”
“Do you wish me to keep it?”
“Yes, indeed—that is, it will be safer with you, I think.”
“Why must it be kept?”