“An’ here’s where one dirty skunk cashes in,” shouted Malemute Slade, raising his high-powered rifle. At the report of the rifle, Govereau fell, Dick and Sandy rushing past his body in pursuit of the others.
Dick barely had witnessed the fall of Govereau before he caught sight of Toma stalking an Indian, who was trying to crawl away among the bushes.
“Halt, in the king’s name!” commanded Dick, as he recognized the skulker to be no other than Many-Scar Jackson.
But the scar faced Indian did not halt. He broke into a run toward the deep gorge on the left, Toma in hot pursuit, and Dick and Sandy close behind.
Suddenly Dick stopped dead in his tracks, Sandy almost falling over him. “Toma!” he called, but the guide did not seem to hear.
“He’s going to avenge his brother’s death,” Sandy exclaimed, pushing ahead.
“Stop!” Dick hauled his chum back. “Toma doesn’t want us to interfere. It’s his fight. If we see he’s getting the worst of it, then we’ll help.”
Sandy drew back and with pale faces they watched the two Indians come together and draw their knives in a duel to the death.
Around and around they circled before Toma darted in like a flash and drew blood. But Many-Scar made a stab in return, and they saw Toma reel a little. Then the two clinched, staggered this way, then that, their knife blades locked.
“Many-Scar has him!” Sandy suddenly exclaimed, raising his rifle.