“I guess you’re right,” agreed Joseph. “I can’t look at him, though,” and he turned his back on the revolting scene being enacted on the ground at his feet. The two young pioneers withdrew a short distance and waited for Deerfoot to join them.
“That was a lucky shot that one of us made,” remarked Joseph.
“I should say so,” agreed Robert, who was busily engaged in reloading his gun. “I wonder which one of us hit him.”
“I know I didn’t see him when I fired,” said Joseph. “I just aimed at the bush and trusted to luck.”
“The same thing I did,” exclaimed Joseph.
“Well, as long as we were successful it doesn’t make much difference who it was that hit him, I guess,” said Robert.
At this moment Deerfoot came to the place where the boys were standing. Joseph could not help noticing the fresh scalp dangling at the belt of the Indian and he felt a chill run up and down his spine at the sight. As Robert had said, however, Deerfoot had only done what was customary with his people and as he knew no better, he was not to be blamed.
“Come,” said Deerfoot. “Black Hawk soon find trail. Maybe he hear shots too. We better go.”
“Where are we going?” demanded Joseph.
“Follow Deerfoot,” replied the Indian calmly.