A moment later the long-haired Ojibwa rose and stepped forward.
“Shoot them!” said Bob.
“No!” said the chief, sternly; and then he cried: “White and red dog, Nehonesto and his friends are in your kennel.”
The startling announcement caused Big Moccasin to dart to his feet, and, despite his prostration, Jules Bardue followed his example, snatching a brand from the fire as he did so.
Then he staggered toward the captive girl, and suddenly paused over a piece of funnel-shaped bark, protruding from the junction of the wall and floor. The rim of the funnel was as large as that of a panama hat, and directly over it the renegade held his torch.
“Ha! ha!” he laughed, turning his hideous eyes upon the trio, who had pressed to the mouth of the cave and covered him with their rifles. “Shoot, if you dare! Though dead, I can blow you to atoms. I hold this torch over a lot of powder that communicates with a giant heap buried beneath us, and in a moment with Jules Bardue, the greatest devil that ever walked the earth, you’d be in eternity. Now, shoot, shoot if you dare!”
He laughed again, and the trio gazed upon him, transfixed with horror.
With throbless hearts they saw the torch blaze over the deadly composition, expecting each moment to be ushered into the presence of the stern Judge, for the separation of one spark from the flambeau, would seal the doom of all.
Instinctively Kate Blount shrunk from the desperate man, and in the center of the cavern stood Big Moccasin with folded arms, and stoical of countenance.
“What shall we do?” questioned the scout, fearfully.