“Cut Cohoon’s belt; but don’t touch scout’s hand. Mebbe he ’live!”
In silence the Indian’s belt was severed, and the wet body was lifted from the ground.
“We’ll go now, ’Reesa,” said Kit, turning to his daughter again. “I had to cut a dead Indian loose from Cohoon.”
He dared not tell her the truth, and as he started forward once more, Cohoon’s finger touched his shoulder, and he heard two words fall from the painted lips, that sent a thrill of pleasure to his heart.
“He breathes!”
A few moments after leaving the river, the fugitives caught occasional glimpses of the stars, and all at once the discharge of a number of rifles struck their ears.
“The boys are after the Modocs,” said Kit, pausing and waiting for Cohoon to come up. “Chief, shall we wait here till the fighting is over, or had we best break for the opening? Which course do you think best?”
“How near we to hole?” asked Cohoon.
“Oh, a matter of thirty yards, I reckon.”
“Then run for hole.”