"I will not live to see that day," said Guy.
"Neither will I; but it is going to take place as sure as the world stands. But I didn't come out here to teach you my religion. You are Methodist or Episcopalian, and probably you will die that way. I came out to warn you."
"To warn me?" echoed Guy. "What about?"
"That there is going to be a massacre here in a few days, and I want you to keep out of it."
"You just bet that I will keep out of it, if I can; but if I should be ordered to be in it—then what?"
"Why, then, there is no help for you. I shall do the same; but you may rest assured that I shall not shoot close to any palefaces. I saw a good many whites while I was gone, and I can't bear to think of seeing them come to their death."
"Come to their death? Is it going to happen out here on the plains?"
For the first time Winged Arrow straightened around on his horse and looked behind him. There was something so stealthy in his movements that Guy almost involuntarily slipped his right hand to his hip pocket and laid hold of his Derringer.