As the Indian dropped the head, a long black curl disengaged itself and fell to the ground.
This proclaimed the path of Baltimore Bob’s bullet, and the furrow plowed along the temple was rank with hardened gore.
The savage soon left the cave, but after an absence of several minutes, returned with water in his pouch.
Then he knelt over the scout and set to work to restore him to consciousness, which, after awhile, he succeeded in doing. Kit opened his eyes upon a swarthy face revealed by the torch.
“So you’ve got me yet,” were his first words, and then, putting forth his arms, he uttered a cry of horror.
“Say!” and he almost started to his feet. “Indian, I had ’Reesa in my arms when I made you stand aside! Tell me where the gal is now; tell me what you’ve done with ’Reesa, you red-livered—”
He paused suddenly, for he had recognized the Indian.
“Cohoon, is it you?”
The Indian smiled.
“Yes, Cohoon is with Kit,” he said.