The man must have been watching, half hid, without moving. It was the beaver man. He had an automatic pistol in his hand. This was my business, now. So, just saying, "There he is!" I stood up and went right forward. But Scout Van Sant followed.
"I want that message," I said, as soon as I could.
"What message?" he growled back, from over his gun.
"That Scouts' message you took from the fellow who took it from us."
"Oh, hello!" he grinned. "Were you there? They let you go, did they?"
"No; I got away to follow you. I want that message."
"Why, sure," he said. "If that's all you want." And he seemed relieved. "Come and get it." He stuck his free hand behind him and fumbled, and then he held up the package.
I started right up, but Scout Ward sprang ahead of me. "I'll get it. You and Van stay behind," he bade.
He didn't wait for us to say yes, but walked for the rock; and just as he reached it, and was stretching to take the package, the man, with a big oath, jumped for him.
Jumped for him, and grabbed for him, sprawling out like a black cougar. Van Sant and I yelled, sharp; Ward dodged and tripped and went rolling; and as the man jumped for him again I shot my arrow at him. I couldn't help it, I was so mad. The arrow was crooked, where it had been mended (I really didn't try to hurt him), and maybe it went crooked; but anyway it hit him in the calf of the leg and stayed there. I didn't think I had shot so hard.