“Me stop you,” said the Indian calmly.
“I have a great mind to shoot you.”
This was an empty threat, for his weapon had been taken by the Quaker detective.
The only answer made by the Indian was to produce a revolver, which he pointed at the breast of the outlaw.
“Two play at that game,” he answered.
John Fox shrank back, for it takes a man of nerve to face a revolver. He began to remonstrate.
“What interest have you in that boy?” he asked.
“He save my little boy from drowning,” answered the Indian. “Will you go or shall me shoot?”
There was but one answer to make to this question. John Fox turned about and walked quietly away without a word.
Ernest grasped the Indian’s hand gratefully.