“Dead?”
The question was quite natural, for the young red ranger could not see the girls’ bonds, which the position of their bodies hid.
“Dead are Artena and the white girl,” answered the Modoc, to see what effect such words would have upon the ranger, and also to torture his inmost soul.
A tinge of pain quivered Cohoon’s lips, and the lurid light of a storm flashed in his dark eyes. That light warned more than one Indian, and the clicking of rifle-locks again broke the silence.
“Who else, then?” demanded the ranger, and he moved forward an inch.
The lying answer accorded well with the torture which the chief’s first words had inflicted.
“This hand,” cried Jack, stretching forth his right hand. “It sent Cohoon’s traitress—”
The snapping of cords interrupted the sentence, and the next moment the spy was among his enemies! Jack saw the veins on his forehead swell to enormous size; but the storm burst before he could prepare to receive it.
The strength of a Sampson slept in the ranger’s muscles, and he leaped among the Modocs with a short, sharp cry, closely allied to the vengeful sound that often emerges from the panther’s throat.
Captain Jack received a blow from the Spencer, which the madman wrenched from his grip, and then the weapon was stained with other blood.