The young brave who sentineled this high strip of ground was much in love with the beautiful daughter of the chief, and with her before his eyes he forgot all else. So wrapped was the young man in the contemplation of the girl that he forgot his duty. A form suddenly bounded from behind a rock near-by, an iron hand gripped the youth’s throat and bore him backward out of sight, and the long knife in the murderer’s hand struck home—to the heart.
It was over instantly. No sound—only a gasp, and the death-rattle in the brave’s throat. Then, with the knife, the murderer made a quick incision in a rough circle in the scalp, about the size of a dollar, and with his teeth tore off the dead warrior’s scalp-lock.
Seated there by the side of his victim the slayer looked upon him with real pleasure, while he muttered in a sinister tone:
“More blood! Ah! I love it! This shall be another death laid to the wiles of Buffalo Bill. Now for the White Antelope, and then——
“There she comes! Now to catch her as she passes!”
He crouched behind his rocky shelter as he spoke, while the White Antelope, seemingly somewhat despondent, came riding slowly back toward the village. In truth, she had ridden to see if she could spy the coming of the Long Hair, who had promised to return. That strange man had gained a wonderful hold upon her mind. And, beside, she had a great secret to impart to him.
Suddenly the girl uttered a cry of alarm and tried to wheel her pony to dash away, for to her side had sprung the form of Boyd Bennett. But his rough hand effectually shut off her scream, he seized her in his arms, and, dragging her from the frightened pony’s back, he darted down a defile, unseen by any of the Indian guards.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
A CRY FOR HELP.
In a large cavern penetrating a pile of rocks, rising to an elevation that commanded a view of the Indian village, sat Buffalo Bill. He had a strong field-glass, and for two days he had been studying the camp, and all that went in or came out of it.