Then he called for his horse: but a savage had anticipated the command, and the renegade turned to find his steed at his side.
A few moments later two hundred Pawnees sat astride their horses.
At a motion from the renegade they sprung erect, uttered a thrilling war-whoop, and then galloped from the village, shouting like demons, standing like statues on the backs of their steeds.
The Pale Pawnee was ill at ease, and he bit his lips till they bled, as he rode, like a fantastically-dressed circus performer, at the head of his red band.
He felt that his reign was drawing to a close, and he was acting through policy now.
“Curse that Indian!” he suddenly hissed, and, while the words still quivered his lips, he heard his followers divide for the purpose of allowing a horseman to gain the front.
A moment later that horseman joined the renegade.
It was Red Eagle.
“Red Eagle help punish the island pale-face, too,” said the chief. “We catch and burn, or tie to wild horse, the beaver-catcher and the pale boys.”
“Yes, yes, chief,” said Tom Kyle, but he added, under his breath, “Mr. Red Eagle, you’ve seen the Gold Girl for the last time; that is, if I can shoot straight enough to-morrow night, and, for ten years, I haven’t missed a mark.”