The door was now opened, and two braves entered. Without a word they grasped the scout by the arms, and led him forth. The braves who had remained within followed; the door was shut and barred. Alfred was left alone to his own gloomy thoughts and fears.
It cost the scout an effort to maintain his composure, but he looked calmly around upon the crowd of exulting savages. David’s first thought was of the renegade, and he looked around to find him. He stood a little apart from the tawny throng, his arms folded, and a look of fiendish pleasure upon his features. He muttered a few words in the Indian tongue as the party passed him, and David was taken at once to the place of torture—the open place in front of the renegade’s cabin.
As usual, the gauntlet was first to be run. At a word from the renegade, the party formed themselves in two lines, prepared to shower vengeance upon the head and shoulders of the doomed scout. Two guards held him firmly by the arms, while a third proceeded to cut the bonds which held his hands.
“Now or never,” thought the scout, as his arms fell by his side.
David had noted carefully his surroundings. All had dropped their guns, save the two guards, who now held his arms. The nearest building was distant nearly twenty paces. If he could reach that, he might, under its cover, gain the forest, when he would care little for those who might pursue.
With his plans well and coolly formed, David twisted himself instantly from the grasp of his foes. Springing quickly aside, he drew forth his pistols, which had been, strangely enough, overlooked, and stood for a moment confronting them. The two Indians who had guns raised them, but the scout was too quick. Before they could fire, both his pistols belched forth their contents, sending death to the nearest, and severely wounding the other.
The sudden and unexpected movement caused a momentary consternation, and seizing one of the Indian’s guns, David sprung toward the hut. He reached it in safety, and, only turning his head, sped onward to the forest.
“Shoot him! Fire after the dog; you never can catch him!” bawled Ashbey.
In obedience to the peremptory order, the Indians stopped and fired away at random, no mark being in view. David had heard the order, and seeking the cover of a large tree waited till the scattering shots ceased. Then cautiously levelling the musket, he fired at the head of his most mortal enemy. The bullet missed its mark. It passed within an inch of Ashbey’s head, and killed a savage beyond. At the same moment a second shot followed, from no great distance, and a second brave rolled upon the ground. The survivors paused for a moment in confusion, then turned and fled frantically back to the cover of their village.