Then he picked up the rifle and moved away at a rapid pace toward the spot where the Indians were holding hellish carnival over their bloody victory of the past day.
Half an hour later Kit South and Artena returned to the conference knoll—both well-mounted.
The camp had been thoroughly searched, but no spy was found.
The two frontiersmen who had accompanied the missing man to camp, declared that they had noted nothing suspicious about him; but General Gillem was satisfied that he was a spy.
“Now for the kidnapping of Jack,” said Kit, with an air of triumph, as they moved in a westerly direction. “If he proves too much for us, Artena, do you know what’s to be done?”
The girl nodded, and laid her hand on the scout’s revolver.
“Yes, that’s it,” said South, and in the faint starlight he examined the chambers of the deadly weapon.
“I do wonder how the folks are to home?” he said in a tone scarcely above a whisper. “I haven’t heard a bit of news from the hut on Lost River for three weeks. I hope God will keep the old woman and ’Reesa safe, while I’m fighting the Modocs.”
“What that Kit say ’bout Lost River?”
It was Artena’s voice, and it startled the scout.