Despite the expression of pity, something very like a smile of triumph lurked about his lips, and he walked erect, keeping his revolver leveled at the breast of the Modoc rebel, who returned his look with silent promises of future vengeance.
Explosion followed explosion in rapid succession, and the scout accelerated his movements, for he feared that a shell might accidentally find its way into the cave, and work destruction among its inmates.
He faced the savages when he reached the end of the line, and began to “back” toward the corridor.
At the moment when the daring scout was about to cross the threshold of the passage, a half-hissing, half-grating sound startled every one, and the next second a shell rolled into the cavern! A cry of horror burst simultaneously from a dozen throats, as several Indians sprung forward and seized the deadly missile.
A moment’s scramble for the shell followed, when the most stalwart of the trio held it aloft, and began to strike it with his hatchet.
Kit seemed rooted to the spot; but only for a moment.
He sprung back into the corridor, as a pistol-shot reverberated throughout the cave.
In the semi-gloom of the passage a man staggered and groaned once—then sunk to the ground, and the figure of a woman fell with him!
It was Lava-Bed Kit, shot by Baltimore Bob, whose right hand griped a smoking pistol!
A wild shout of approval greeted the treacherous shot, and the exultant Indian leaped toward his victim, hatchet in hand, when the most terrible of explosions shook the cave!