“What am yer?”
“Prospectors. We’re marching on foot over the country to find gold and silver, for we’re satisfied that there’s plenty of it to be found, and we’ve had some pretty tough times getting away from the red devils.”
“Guess you’ll lose yer har afore yer finds de pay dirt,” said Pomp. “But whar am dat boy?”
“What boy?”
Before the nig could make answer a shrill scream arose.
Then a chorus of yells followed, and Pomp rushed to the edge of the grove to see what was up.
Ralph Radcliffe was running through the grass towards the trees, and three tall red braves were bounding down upon the boy.
The boy ran fleetly, but he was no match for the tall red-skins, and they were rapidly overhauling him.
Like a flash Pomp turned back, leaped on the back of one of the men in his eagerness, tore the weapons from his belt, and made grand flying leaps out upon the grassy plain.
The Indians were closing in upon the poor boy, when, with a mighty bound, the black athlete leaped upon them.