The name Golden George was not unfamiliar to Midnight Jack. It told him that another foe had risen against him in the very heart of the Sioux camp.
He did not follow the train, but saw them disappear.
Thinking of his companion, he resolved to return to their lodge, and hastened from the uncomfortable spot.
The Indians on every side were rapidly seeking their wigwams again, full of the scene which they had just witnessed.
All at once Midnight Jack noticed a figure standing statue-like at the side of a lodge just ahead. The starlight fell full upon him, and the road-agent saw that his face was turned away.
“Now, Golden George, I'll turn the tables,” said Midnight Jack, and the next moment, with the tread of the panther, he had glided over the well-trodden ground to the person's side.
The heavy “navy” was clutched in the road-agent's hand, and before the imperilled person was aware of his presence, the muzzle of the pistol was thrust against the back of his head.
“There's death at your brain, Golden George!” whispered Midnight Jack, as his left hand dropped on the startled man's shoulder, and prevented him from turning round. “One word of warning and I'll burst your brain-pan. You are a man of your word—so am I. Swear to leave this Indian town immediately—nor to interfere with me here—or by the gold of Ophir, I'll kill you now where we stand! No cringing! Swear! or the bullet!”
The man attacked never turned his head, but his eyes flashed hate and murder, and he said through clenched teeth—
“Curse you, Midnight Jack—I swear!”