And he let his horse go on, contenting himself with carefully examining the thick scrub he passed and the tall grass through which he rode with great difficulty, in order not to let himself be attacked unawares by an invisible foe. It was about nine in the morning, the hour most pleasant for travelling in these torrid latitudes. For about an hour the Canadian thus advanced haphazard, when suddenly a bullet whizzed past his ear.
"Who is the clumsy scoundrel turning me into a target?" the hunter said, coolly, as he halted and looked around; "Devil take the animal for missing me so stupidly."
A slight smoke, which rose a short distance off, from the grass, soon indicated to him the spot whence the shot was fired; without hesitation, he dug his spurs into his horse's flanks, and dashed in that direction, resolved to take a prompt revenge for this unfair attack. But almost immediately a hurried motion commenced in the tall grass; it parted under the pressure of a vigorous hand, and an Indian appeared. It was Running Water, holding in his hand the gun he had just used, the barrel of which was still smoking.
"Hang it, chief," the Canadian said gaily, "it must be confessed that you have a strange way of putting your question."
"My brother must pardon me; it is not my fault," the Indian answered.
"That you missed me," the Canadian interrupted him laughingly. "By Jove, I am convinced of that, for the bullet almost passed through my hair."
"My brother will not understand me. I did not recognize him. Had I done so, I should not have fired on the man to whom I owe my life."
"Nonsense! On the prairie that is of no consequence, chief; but, excepting the rather rough way in which you bade me welcome, I am delighted at having met you."
"My brother is now the friend of a chief; he is in safety on our hunting grounds."
"So it seems," the adventurer replied mockingly.