But the quick eye and trigger of Midnight Jack, saw the action and suddenly checked it.
The stricken brave fell back upon the mule, shot through the eye, while his companion with the whip, kissed the road before the report of the first dead shot had died away. Now ensued a scene of terrible and deadly confusion.
The pistols continued to pour their leaden messengers into the wagon, until the last red reveller pitched over the dash, and quivered in the agonies of death beneath the heels of the mules.
When he had reloaded the formidable weapons he rode up to the wagon, speaking kindly to the team as he passed by, and looked around upon the half-naked savages lying in the road.
“I kind o' piled them in the wagon, I guess,” he murmured, approaching the vehicle, over whose side he leaned.
“By the gold of Ophir, a girl!” he cried, and with the exclamation ringing from his lips, Midnight Jack leaped from the saddle and landed in the wagon.
A moment sufficed to hurl the dead Indians to one side, and when the bandit rose from a stooping position, he held a female figure in his arms, and was looking into the whitest and loveliest face his eyes had ever beheld.
In the excitement of the moment, the bandit did not notice that the girl's ankles were bound together; he was gazing into the white, angelic face.
As he looked, his own face assumed a wild expression; the ruddy colour departing, left it as white as the one he held in his arms.
“Merciful heaven!” he cried, “I cannot be mistaken. If she is really dead, I'll exterminate the whole Sioux nation. I'll make their land a land of blood! Ah! Golden George will never carry out his threat now. Better dead, Dora, than HIS! But why did you come out here? Wake up! open your eyes, and tell me about father. Am I cursed yet? Are you dead in my arms? I'll leave the road now—leave it forever. The red devils shall curse the night they killed Midnight Jack's sister!”