Immediately after this act the winnowing of great wings was heard, and a moment later the eagle that attacked the savages so fiercely settled down from the gloom overhead and perched itself upon the shoulder of the ranger. Blood was on its talons and beak.
“A noble pet you have, Mr. Rainbolt,” said the colonel, admiringly.
“Yes, sir; one that will be worth more to me in rescuing your daughter than a dozen men. His instinct is wonderful and his strength prodigious. One stroke of his wing, Mr. Sanford, would break your arm as though it were a straw. I have known him to carry in his talons a weight of a hundred pounds. Ah, a noble bird is Echo, my eagle. He hates a red-skin with all the bitterness of his master.”
“You must have had great patience in training him, Mr. Rainbolt.”
“I do not claim all that honor. He was partly trained when he came into my possession. He was given me by an old Californian named Barker.”
“Barker!” burst involuntarily from Sanford’s lips; “Gustave Barker?”
“Yes; Gustave Barker,” replied the ranger, eying the colonel sharply. “Do you know him?”
“Oh—no, I have heard of him,” replied Sanford, recovering from his sudden excitement.
There was a few moments’ silence, broken only by the impatient pawing of the ranger’s steed.
Doctor Rodman had succeeded in restoring Lyman to his senses, and had carefully dressed Willis’ arm, which, after all, had only sustained a flesh-wound.