He shot her a maddened look, as he put the question, not destined to be answered then, and turned as two rifles cracked at his side. He saw a brace of Indians drop in the woods, and then the remainder of the band sprung to trees.
“We must run!” cried the White Tiger. “The whole village will be down here in a minute.”
The next moment the quartette turned and dashed toward the lake, still three miles distant.
“You’ve dropped one—I haven’t,” cried Cromer, pausing in his race for life. “I must kill one greaser afore day, with the rifle. Choking red-skins to death is no fun.”
He faced the pursuing savages, some fifteen in number, who, confident of an easy capture, were following with torches through the thinly-timbered wood, and threw his rifle to his shoulder.
“Quick, Doc, quick! We’re losing time!” cried the Destroyer.
“Hold a moment,” was the calm reply. “I want to bore a brain!”
Seemingly not realizing their danger, the rash trader took matters very calmly, and, as his finger touched the trigger, Webb leaped forward with a startling cry.
“A panther!”
As he shrieked the name of the beast, he hurled the trader aside, completely spoiling his aim.