To the red rider the reply of Salisky was a riddle.
“They are but spies,” he continued accusingly, “and upon the heads of their kind is the blood of my brother.”
The speaker supplemented his words with a menacing movement toward the young pilots, who were wholly ignorant of the nature of this parley.
“Hold!”
The voice of Salisky had a hard note, and conveyed no double meaning.
Marovitch ranged alongside of his comrade, and each of the scouts rested a hand on the holsters attached to their belts.
The Cossacks, with lowered lances, closed in behind their chief.
Anything might have happened in the next minute if Billy, noting the trend of action, had not pushed himself to the front, and made eloquent plea to Salisky to avoid the threatened encounter.
“Explain to him,” cried the boy; “tell him right off the bat what we are here for; ask him about the ring; spar for time; scout, spar for time!”
Nikita, seeing this new breeze blow into the squall, was curious to know what the pleading was about. He grounded his lance, and his companions followed suit. The scouts relaxed their grip on their side arms.