“Speak, and see that your tongue is not forked, Raven Feather,” was the cold reply.
“The tongue of Raven Feather is not the tongue of a serpent. The words shall be straight. Raven Feather seeks the white man who is Buffalo Bill’s prisoner. Give Raven Feather the prisoner and Buffalo Bill may go free. Raven Feather has no quarrel with the great white warrior.”
“That’s a lie, chief,” was the quiet reply. “You want my scalp for the loss of the braves who fell before the door a few minutes ago. Well, if you get it you’ll have to suffer the loss of a few more braves. I am in a tight place—I would be a fool not to admit it—but I’m not going to peter out without taking a star part in a sanguinary circus. So drop your smooth talk, and let the fun begin.”
As he ceased speaking, a noise at the window on the side of the cabin nearest the bushes attracted his attention. Quick as a flash, he wheeled and fired, and a Navaho fell.
It had been the design of the treacherous Raven Feather to distract the attention of the king of scouts until the brave could reach the window and take a shot at the man who had overcome Rixton Holmes.
Buffalo Bill changed his position so that the window was no longer a point of danger.
The Navaho chief did not again open his mouth to speak, and for some minutes silence reigned in the vicinity of the cabin.
Rixton Holmes lay on the floor, a placid expression on his dark countenance.
The king of scouts regarded the villain with a frown. “Don’t you imagine that your rescue is near at hand,” he said, in a tone that made Holmes shiver, “for you’ll die before a savage enters that door. I may be booked for the last journey, but you can make up your mind that your ticket for the infernal regions will be punched before the redskins settle my case.”
The villain shut his eyes and did some tall thinking. He knew that Buffalo Bill would do as he threatened.