Then McKay spoke in a whisper:
“Kit?”
The figures paused, and the next minute the chief had joined his rangers.
“The boys ar’ dead,” said Kit South. “I told Thatcher to watch that Indian; but Harry war too much for them. I just want to git a hold on him now. Sam and I war in ‘the war’ together under Canby, and Jehu! now I want to kill the greaser who played traitor, and then shot him.”
A brief conversation—in which the parties exchanged personal narratives—followed, and they resolved to return to the lava caves, and free Cohoon and the two women from the Indians’ power.
“So my dream won’t come true,” said Kit South, dejectedly, “for you say you killed Rafe. Well, I’m glad on it, now. Do you think he and New York Harry ar’ the same, eh ’Van?”
’Van Harris smiled, but did not reply. The argument was against him now, and the scout saw that he did not like to acknowledge it.
“Well,” continued Kit, “I’ll consider Harry Rafe Todd when I catch him, and treat the red devil accordingly.”
The trio vacated the spot, and in due time found themselves beside the underground torrent, and within ten feet of the very man they were hunting—the very girl, too.
But they knew it not, and, guided by McKay, hurried down-stream toward the Bloody Cave, which, within the last forty-eight hours, could lay additional claim to the appellation.