Scarcely had the last word left his lips, than a huge, dusky hand was thrust down from among the foliage of the low, drooping boughs under which he was passing—clutched him with its cold, bony fingers by the nape of the neck, and drew him from the ground, up among the dark boughs with the quickness of a flash.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE TRAGEDY IN THE FOREST GLADE.
Like a phantom the tall form of Solomon Strange glided through the forest after Black Bear.
Now and then the renegade would stop and gaze around him as though he felt a presentiment of lurking danger, and then again move on.
Half a mile from the Indian encampment was a little glade through which ran the trail the chief was following. As he neared the edge of it, the madman quickened his pace, and just as the renegade stepped into the moonlit space, a wild voice called out:
“Stop!”
The renegade involuntarily stopped and turned around.
At this moment the tall form of Solomon Strange sprung from the forest shadows, and dealt the chief a blow with his club that felled him lifeless at his feet.
Bending over the prostrate form, he scrutinized it.