Dick Bracknell broke out, suddenly, “Confound it,” he cried, “this is intolerable. That Indian Joe must have gone mad!”
“You think it is your man?” asked Joy quickly.
“I am sure of it! Who else can it be in this God-forsaken wilderness? It must be he, but I will soon find out!”
He moved towards the door and throwing down the bar, opened it. There was nothing visible but the snow, and the dark woods. He took a step forward, and as he did so something came swishing through the air and struck the door post. He knew what it was before he saw it, and cried out.
“Joe, you confounded fool, what——”
The sharp crack of a rifle broke in on the words, and a bullet cut the fur off his coat at the top of the shoulder. He turned quickly round, and tumbled backward into the cabin, kicking the door to behind him. Joy ran forward, and dropped the bar in place, then looked at him.
“You are hurt?” she cried anxiously.
“No,” he answered, as he picked himself up.
“Only knocked over with surprise.”
“But that was a rifle, wasn’t it? Some one fired at you?”