“I did not shoot,” was the stern reply.
“True, but you were the companion, perhaps the friend, of the dead man.”
“I was not his friend,” replied the savage, more sullenly than ever.
“Then how came you to be with him when making this cowardly attack?” I asked, in a tone which was meant to conciliate.
The tone had the desired effect. The savage explained that about three weeks previously he had, while in danger of being killed by a grizzly bear which he had wounded, been rescued by Attick, who told him that he was in pursuit of a foe who had injured him deeply, and whom he meant to hunt to death. Out of gratitude the Indian had consented to follow him—believing his story to be true. Attick explained that he had followed his foe from the far north, day by day, week by week, month by month, seeking an opportunity to slay him; but so careful a watch had been kept by his foe and the Indian and woman who travelled with him that he had not up to that time found an opportunity. Attick and his new ally had then dogged us to Sunny Creek—the village at which we had arrived—and, finding that we no longer feared danger from hostile Indians, and had relaxed our vigilance, they had made up their minds to stay there patiently till the deed could be accomplished. That day, while consulting about the matter in the woods, we had suddenly and unexpectedly appeared before them, and Attick had discharged his arrow.
“But” concluded the savage, with a perplexed look, “the pale-face cannot be killed. Arrows cannot pierce him.”
“You are right,” said I, suddenly coming to a decision in regard to the man. “Neither bullet nor arrow can kill me till my work is done, and the Great Master of Life permits me to die. Go—and be more careful whom you follow in future.”
I cut the thong that bound him, as I spoke, and set him free.
Without a word, though with an irresistible look of surprise, the savage turned, picked up his weapons and strode majestically into the bush.
“My brother is not wise,” remarked Big Otter.