“So,” said ’Reesa, “Jack has sent for us at last.”
“No. Harry not take captives to Mouseh,” was the quick reply, and there was an air of self-triumph in his mien. “The cave prisoners are to be separated.”
“No! no!” and ’Reesa sprung to Artena. “Do not tear us apart.”
“The white girl is unfit to mate with the red traitress,” said Harry, stepping forward and grasping ’Reesa’s arm. “Jack give you to New York Harry, and you go with him now. White Indian dead, you see.”
“Yes, and I thank Heaven for it,” cried the scout’s daughter. “Artena, he shall not—”
Before she could finish her sentence the Indian jerked her from the Squaw Spy, and started back.
“Give her back to me!”
The cry sprung from Artena’s lips, and with the agility of the jungle-tiger, she leaped from the couch, knife in hand.
But planting his feet firmly on the ground, the Indian met the charge, and dexterously knocked the knife aside as it descended.
Then, before Artena could recover, he clutched her throat, and hurled her with all his might back upon the couch.