His swinging arm clove open a hole in the tepee, and he staggered through it, with Utes hanging to him like leeches. Others poured, yelling, through the hole after them.
As this happened, the staring-eyed white man who watched under the edge of the lodge saw Tim Benson rise from the skins he sat on and project himself out of the lodge by the way of the regular exit, brushing aside the Utes crowding in there.
The Gamecock got into action.
But he was bewildered by his desire to follow and capture Benson and his equally strong desire to know what was being done to Gorilla Jake. Already he had reached the conclusion that if he ever received a reward for producing the body of Gorilla Jake, it would be by producing a dead body.
The roaring tumult on the other side of the lodge where the apelike man and the maniacal Utes had gone was indescribable.
But Jim Betts was not able to see what became of Gorilla Jake.
He found it necessary to consider his own safety. Utes were all round him. One had actually stepped on the Gamecock’s fingers as he lay sprawled on the ground.
“I got ter git out o’ this!” was his startled thought.
Apparently it was a conclusion taken none too soon.
He began to crawfish away from the lodge, almost flat on the ground, keeping out of the way of the Indians, who rushed in what seemed the probable direction taken by Gorilla Jake.