“But you heard the report?”
“Yes; it seemed to come from a spot above us.”
Frontier Shack lifted his eyes, and placed his index finger on his lip.
Somebody was on the burning roof.
Frontier Shack climbed up the logs, and waited at the aperture between the eave and the uppermost log, for the person on the roof.
Presently he heard the unknown person descending, and sustaining himself with one hand, the trapper cocked a revolver.
But he hesitated; the person might be a friend, for the shot, which had been fired from the roof, had killed an Indian, and who among the Pawnees would attempt such a deed?
The unknown let himself over the eave hurriedly yet cautiously.
The legs first descended, then came the body, and when the head appeared between the trapper and the stars, a low hiss sounded:
“I hit him between the eyes; the Gold Girl is mine now!”