Frontier Shack raised the pistol, but the head had disappeared before he could scatter the brains he wished to.
“Tom Kyle was on the roof.”
“Tom Kyle?” echoed George Long.
“Yes, and he shot an Indian, too.”
“What can he mean?”
“A girl’s at the bottom of the thing,” said Shackelford. “He shot somebody important, for listen at them Indians.”
Loud cries, which indicated the death of some Indian of distinction, came from beyond the burning tree, and dark forms could be seen moving wildly in every direction.
“Dash me if he hasn’t audacity!” suddenly exclaimed Shackelford, who was watching the savages from a crack near the door. “After killing the Pawnee, Tom Kyle walks right among ’em, no doubt swearing I plugged ’im.”
Almost wholly absorbed in the scene before them, the twain continued to look until a burning brand fell at their feet.
“By Joshua! it’s getting too hot here, boy. Now for Fort Kearney or Pawneedom.”