“Just in time,” thought Jack.
Then his eye was caught by a picturesque figure of a man emerging from the little tent which Mr. Hampton employed, because he was a sufferer from rheumatism and wanted some shelter to keep off night chills in case they were late in getting out of the country, but which at present frequently was not set up on their halts. The present occasion, however, a whim to sleep under canvas rather than the fir trees had possessed him, and the tent had been set up.
The man who caught Jack’s attention differed little in dress from Dick and Art, but about his head was bound a red bandanna handkerchief in piratical fashion, and this suggestion was increased by his long, drooping black mustaches. Jack could see him clearly, and thought that seldom had he looked upon a more villainous countenance. The fellow held a piece of paper in his hand, and was reading it with evident satisfaction.
A low exclamation from Farnum, next in line on his left, drew Jack’s attention. He looked at the latter, crouching behind a tree. Farnum’s eyes were ablaze. He had raised his rifle and was pointing it at the man before the tent. The next moment there was a report, the paper fell from the fellow’s hand, and he emitted a howl of surprise and pain.
“Just the hand,” Jack overheard Farnum say in a tone of vexation, as he prepared to fire again. But the other, seizing his wounded hand in the unwounded one, did not wait for the attack. Running low and in zigzag fashion, he darted for the cover of the trees on the other side of the camp, at the same time shouting an unintelligible warning to his companions.
“Fire,” shrieked Farnum, pumping another shot after the fleeing man, that kicked up the dirt at his heels. “That’s Lupo the Wolf. Shoot to kill.”
Jack shot with the rest, but remembering his father’s exhortation fired high. The volley was general. From the rifles of Art, Dick and Farnum came deeper notes of heavy weapons, while from the four revolvers of the others poured a succession of shots. It sounded as if an army were opening fire from the woods.
The Indians did not stay upon the order of their going. Those grouped about the luggage ran after the disappearing man Farnum had called Lupo the Wolf, while the other group at the canoes dashed away along the graveled bank of the stream. One, however, sought to launch the canoes into the swift current before departing, but his first effort was ineffectual, and any further attempt was stopped by a bullet from Mr. Hampton’s revolver, which winged him in an arm and sent him scurrying after his fellows.
“Dick, Art, here,” cried Farnum, peremptorily.
The two ran to his side.