And then the well-pleaded redskins got upon their feet, and Ralph was led away to a tent.
“Ten thousand furies!” grunted the baffled villain as he strode away. “What can be the matter with the boy? Is he really a bit cracked, or is he only shamming so as to arouse the sympathy and gain the reds’ protection? Great Spirit be hanged. If I can get a good square show to run my knife across his windpipe, I’ll not take time to think before doing it. He is in my way, and anything that bars me now must be removed.”
And the determined compression of his thin lips told that his savage nature would not hesitate to carry out his evil purpose.
After the morning meal had been put out of sight, the reds prepared for a start.
As they were strong together, and not over strong when apart, the leader of the other party, a cunning half-breed, conferred with Van Dorn, and made an agreement to travel along with him.
Van Dorn had no special place to go to, and all he wanted to do was to hang on to the party until Ralph Radcliffe was put out of the way.
“Then I can cut away to Clarkville,” said the scheming rascal; “and then hurrah for a slappin’ old time.”
They moved away in good style together, and traveled east, it being the design of the half-breed leader to strike the common route of the emigrant trains.
Mustang Max, the young guide, was walking along in advance of the long train, when he discovered the approach of the combined.
“Halt!”