Midnight Jack listened without a word until the boy finished.
“But the captive?”
“She it was who struck Mouseskin, and took his horn.”
“Ah?”
The road-agent started back.
Could the boy have spoken truly? Was his young sister alone in the woods of Sioux-land, and liable to fall into the hands of Golden George?
The thought roused Midnight Jack.
“Where is my brother?”
“Down at the dog-feast.”
“And the white boy?”