Clarke saw that it was not an idle threat. The American meant what he said, and he hurriedly put a few things together and made them into a pack. Then he turned to Harding with a gesture of ironical resignation.
"I'm ready."
The Indian laid a firm hand on his arm, and Harding took out his pistol and extinguished the lamp.
"Your interest in keeping quiet is as strong as mine," he sternly reminded Clarke.
He set his teeth as they passed a tepee at a few yards' distance. He could see the dark gap of the doorway, and had a nervous fancy that eyes were following his movements; for now that he had succeeded in the more difficult part of his errand, he was conscious of strain. Indeed, he feared that he might grow limp with the reaction; and the danger was not yet over. Unless they reached camp in the next few days, he thought Blake would die, and the journey was a long and arduous one. Still, he was determined that if disaster overtook him, the plotter who had betrayed them should not escape. Harding was a respecter of law and social conventions; but now, under heavy stress, he had suddenly become primitive.
They approached the only remaining tepee. The tension on Harding's nerves grew severe. As the Indian, holding tightly to their prisoner's arm, picked his way noiselessly past the open flap, Clarke made a queer noise—half cough, half sneeze—very low, but loud enough to be heard by any one in the tent. Like a flash, Harding threw up his pistol, ready for use. As he did so, his foot tripped on a broken bottle lying in front of the dark entrance. The pistol did not go off, but Harding, trying wildly to regain his balance, fell with a crash against the tepee.
CHAPTER XII
THE FEVER PATIENT
When Harding scrambled to his feet, with his pistol still aimed, Clarke laughed.
"You're not only very rash—and very clumsy—but you're lucky. That's the only vacant tepee in the whole village. And my friends don't seem to have heard you."