CHAPTER VI.
"Who fired that shot?"
Clear and stern rang out the question from the lips of Lieutenant Carey, as he beheld the great Sioux chief reel in his saddle from a shot fired by one of the Indian police.
To take Sitting Bull alive had been his orders, and only in case of direst necessity to fire a shot.
It was true that Sitting Bull had called his redskins to the rescue, yet the gallant officer and the Indian guard were in full flight, well mounted, and could have, perhaps, escaped with their prisoner.
Not until the last desperate moment would Kit Carey have dealt death upon the Sioux chief.
But an Indian officer had been stung to madness by a wound, there were hundreds of Sioux warriors pressing on in hot haste to the rescue, and many men were mounting to aid in tearing their loved leader from his captors.
Upon all sides redskins, mounted and on foot, were appearing. They had been the ones to open fire upon the capturers of Sitting Bull, and thus had the struggle for life or death been precipitated in an instant of time.