The Indian darted forward like a rocket as the flaring stick shot aloft, and his hand closed on the outlaw’s arm. But Funk wrenched his arm from the gripe, and struck his foe across the face with the fiery weapon. He renewed his blow, under which the Wyandot staggered, but recovered in a second and hurled him back. With the desperation befitting his situation, Roy Funk struggled manfully, but Silver Hand held him down, while Wolf-Cap secured his limbs with ropes or cords.
“Well, boys, you’ve caught me at last,” he said, looking up into the faces of his white hunters. “But if it hadn’t been for these infernal bats, Roy Funk would have triumphed at last. I did my best to outwit you, and if I was free I would do it again. Now, what are you going to do with the outlaw?”
Wolf-Cap and the young borderman held a conversation in low tones.
“We are going to take you back to Fort Strong,” said Belt, at length looking at the outlaw. “The settlers shall judge you according to your deeds. I had intended killing you with my own hands, Roy Funk, but you have wronged others more than you have wronged me. Where are your men?”
In a few words the outlaw narrated the attack on his camp by Colonel O’Neill, and the destruction of the Night-Hawks.
“So you’re the last of ’em?” said Wolf-Cap.
“I am the last.”
“Do you want to go to Fort Strong?”
“I care not whither you take me. But if I have to depart, Card Belt, I would reveal a secret before we quit this place.”
“Wal, drive ahead then, for we must get out o’ this hole in a few minutes.”