Of a sudden the Indian’s rifle flew like a flash to his shoulder. At the same instant Ree heard John Jerome’s familiar whistle, and springing forward, seized the red man’s weapon in time to prevent the speeding of a leaden messenger of death to his friend’s heart. He answered John’s call as he did this, praying and hoping that it could not—must not, have been his friend who had fired the shot which would probably end the younger Indian’s life.
CHAPTER VI.
On Lonely Mountain Roads.
“What’s happened, Ree?”
The tone in which John asked the question, satisfied Kingdom that his friend knew nothing of the shooting. Better than this, however, it satisfied the Indian who knelt silently nearby, still listening, that the boy he had so nearly shot, knew nothing of the person who had fired from the darkness.
Quietly, but in tones the Indian could hear, Ree related what he knew of the mysterious occurrence.
“Who could it have been, Chief!” John asked, turning to the Redskin and addressing him with the easy familiarity he used toward every one.
The Indian shook his head. “Paleface,” he grunted at last; “no tried to kill Indian; tried to kill white brother there. Black Eagle thinks long and knows how bullet flew. Man-that-shoots-from-the-dark wishes much to steal.”