At the same time, he slowly waved his hand to and fro, and, imitating the sinuous movements of the red hypnotist, advanced upon the semicircle of warriors. The effect was marvelous.
“The Sign of the Prophet! The Sign of the Prophet!” they wailed in terrified accents, shrinking away from him—their eyes immovably fixed upon the talisman.
For a moment George Hilliard was dumbfounded. He could not understand what was happening. Realizing that Ross, in some way, was sending terror to the hearts of the red fiends, the thick-set villain’s face grew purple with rage. He stormed and raved. But all to no purpose; the savages were spellbound—they could not hear his voice.
Slowly advancing—and continuing his serpentine movements—Ross continued:
“Children of the Prophet, I wear his sign—I have his power! I am doing the will of the Great Spirit. Away—away! Go—ere I strike you blind——”
“Curse you, Ross Douglas! I’ll strike you blind!” Hilliard howled frantically.
Quick as a flash, he threw his gun to his shoulder and fired. But quick as his movements were, John Douglas’s were quicker. Just before the roar of the firearm rang out upon the air, the father sprang in front of his son. The next moment he sank to earth, mortally wounded. With a lionlike roar of rage, Duke leaped upon the murderer and dragged him to the ground. Three rifles cracked in rapid succession; and three painted braves met death.
The spell was broken. The savages gazed about in stupefaction. Then, dimly realizing what had happened, they broke and fled toward the cover of the woods, just as the soldiers, cheering lustily, dashed up.
La Violette dropped upon the ground and pillowed John Douglas’s head upon her lap. Ross bent over the dying man, and in a voice full of anguish asked:
“Father, can you see me—can you speak to me?”