But again John was wrong, as the reader will have guessed. It was upon Return Kingdom that the Indian had his eyes, and it was fortunate indeed for Little Paleface that the Seneca was too occupied in that direction to look in any other; for so intensely interested did the lad become in watching the creature’s cat-like movements that he stood fairly in the open, an object of easy discovery had his presence been suspected.
The temptation came to John to shoot his accuser down. Had he not the right to kill one who at sight would kill him? he asked himself; and a half minute later, when he found that it was his bosom friend that the redskin was so secretly pursuing, he was doubly-tempted to make an end of him. One bullet would do it. One bullet would settle this whole miserable witchcraft business. But how? What good would it do to have Lone-Elk out of the way if it became known that the “witch” was his slayer?
Then John saw, or thought he saw, that Kingdom knew he was followed. The whole truth came to him. Ree had set out to go to the whitewood but, being tracked by the Indian, had purposely refrained from going there.
Resolving to keep Lone-Elk in sight to give Kingdom any assistance he could, should the actions of the Indian become seriously threatening, John followed after them. He allowed between himself and the Seneca as great a distance as was possible, still keeping him in view, but so swift and silent were the fellow’s movements that it was a puzzle for the eye to follow him.
With increasing interest in the mysterious game his friend and the Indian were playing, John did not at once realize that, after one sharp turn he had made, Ree was headed homeward. When he did make this discovery, however, it was only to decide that he would go, too, and thus was presented in the wilderness depths the odd picture of one person being unrelentingly trailed by another, who, in turn, was watched and followed by a third.
But even stranger things the unbounded woods of the early days full often witnessed. Stranger dreams have never come to man than were many of the realities of life in the wilds of the middle west a hundred and odd years ago.
While from one point at the clearing’s edge Lone-Elk unceasingly bent his eyes upon the little log house on the bluff, John Jerome did likewise from another. John, however, had two objects to keep within his scrutiny. One, and the most important one, was the Seneca. Still he had ample opportunity to see what Ree was doing, and with particular interest he watched his chum sit eating and drinking in the doorway.
“And here I am, most starved, within sight of him!” the weary boy reflected. “Just wait till it’s dark, you lonely old Elk you, and if you don’t do something then, I will!”
An hour had passed since night closed in. Return Kingdom still watched from loopholes, wondering in vain, looking in vain, to know what the Seneca’s nocturnal tactics would be. No sign of the Indian had he seen since darkness shut out the view across the clearing.
What was that noise? Ree started violently. The horses moved as if some one had come in the barn. In another second his ear was at a crack in the wall between the lean-to stable and the cabin, and he knew that something besides the horses was stealthily moving—yes, moving toward him; he heard it plainly now. What could that miserable, sneaking, malicious Indian be up to now! And then a whisper—