But a second later he relaxed the grasp, and whispered a name.
“Cohoon?”
“Kit,” came the reply.
“I knew ye by yer necklace of bear-claws, boy,” continued Kit, in a low tone. “By George! if it hadn’t been fur them, there’d be a dead Indian hereabouts. Where’ve ye been, Cohoon?”
“Spying all ’bout,” answered the savage. “Evan and Cohoon catch Mouseh; but he git ’way. He kick Cohoon ’way down over rocks, and Indian lay there long time.”
Kit South uttered an ejaculation more forcible than polite.
“Where’s Evan now?”
“That’s what Cohoon want to know.”
“You leave him with Jack?”
“Yes.”