Before Mouseskin could reply there came from the Cottonwood forest the barking of Myriad Indian dogs.
“What means that, Mouseskin?” cried the road-agent, grasping the red boy's arm.
“The white boy!” exclaimed the little Sioux. “The red boys have taken him into the woods; they have tied him to a tree, and set the hungry dogs upon him.”
The road-agent darted suddenly away, leaving Mouseskin bewildered in his tracks.
CHAPTER III.
“If I could steal back and get the drop on you, Midnight Jack! No! that would not be fair after my word. He forced it from me—curse my stupid ears that would not hear his steps! Why not go back—down into the village and call him out? My word—ay, that's it. Golden George keeps that!”
A moment later the hillock was deserted.
“I will go away. To-morrow is the sun-dance. Tanglefoot will tear the mask off from Midnight Jack. I will wait for that event then Golden George will go back.”
Not far from the hill the speaker came suddenly upon a lithe-limbed horse, secured by a leathern tether to a young cottonwood. The cord permitted the steed to pick at the sparse herbage that grew about the roots of the tree, and a light whinny greeted the Sport.
From among the low hanging limbs of the cottonwood the Sport drew a light saddle, which he speedily adjusted to the horse's back, and sprung into the leathern seat.