“Now, Tom—”
The trapper suddenly paused, for the renegade had wheeled in his stirrups, with an oath.
“This is the Pawnees’ plan!” he hissed.
There was the report of a rifle; the revolvers fell from Shackelford’s hands, and he dropped on Tecumseh’s neck without a sigh—without a groan!
A cry of horror burst from the lips of the spectators of this brutal deed, and Lina Aiken found herself dragged from beneath the body of her preserver by a hand that griped her like the jaws of a vise.
With the girl in his arms, the renegade wheeled toward the buffaloes. He rose in his stirrups again, as he executed the movement, and a moment later he was standing on the saddle with the ease of a circus-rider.
One arm supported Lina Aiken and the trapper’s rifle, while the other held his magnificent serape aloft, and flaunted it in the faces of the thirsty herd.
Straight at the quadrupedal ranks the Pawnee “buck-skin” darted, and the renegade accompanied the waving of his serape with yells that might have frightened the fiends in Pandemonium.
The young adventurers’ eyes looked over white cheeks, and George Long’s first intention was to cock his rifle.
“Don’t shoot!” cried his companion, putting forth his hand. “Our safety lies in following him. If he rides through the ranks, why can not we?”