For a moment the young Indian did not reply; but he unsealed his red lips again it was to say “Come!” as he turned suddenly on his heel.
Red Crest was moving toward the low-browed door, confident that Deadly Dan was on his heels.
“It is the only card I can play; he turned the Jack on me before I had been ten minutes in Custer. I didn’t expect to see him here, but we had to meet some time. I must follow him—yes, I must kill him!”
Red Crest being the guide, led the way. They left the town behind, and after ten minutes’ walk, the Indian halted at what appeared to be the mouth of a little gulch.
“Here!” he said, whirling upon his antagonist.
Deadly Dan, for the first time, started as if the monosyllable had exploded a shell at his feet.
“I’ve been a fool—a confounded idiot!” he murmured. “While we were coming down here, I was leaving the golden opportunity slip. I was thinking, but not about the vital interests of the hour—not about the life I was bringing down here to put up for an Indian’s target. No, curse me! If I had recurred to business for one brief minute, I would now be going back to Custer alone—yes, alone!”
Did the gleaming eyes of Red Crest discern the thoughts that were flitting through the Sport’s brain? If they had not, why did he say—
“Red Crest trusted his brother who might have shot him as they walked.”
“And you might have winged me,” Deadly Dan remarked with a faint smile. “One must fear the other, eh, Indian?”