“The tables are turned, my red friend!” said the hunter, coolly. “It's your life, not mine, this time!”
At that moment Herbert, pale and shocked, but relieved as well, pressed forward, and the hunter saw him for the first time.
“Was it you, boy, who fired the shot?” asked the hunter, in surprise.
“Yes,” answered Herbert.
“Then I owe you my life, and that's a debt Jack Holden isn't likely to forget!”
CHAPTER XXXI. JACK HOLDEN ON THE INDIAN QUESTION.
It is a terrible thing to see a man stretched out in death who but a minute before stood full of life and strength. Herbert gazed at the dead Indian with a strange sensation of pity and relief, and could hardly realize that, but for his interposition, it would have been the hunter, not the Indian, who would have lost his life.
The hunter was more used to such scenes, and his calmness was unruffled.
“That's the end of the dog!” he said, touching with his foot the dead body.