A dark-red fluid
colored the water; then his body slipped over the oar and into the
river, where it sank.
"My God! Shot!" cried Jim, in horrified tones.
He saw a puff of white smoke rising above the willows. Then the
branches parted, revealing the dark forms of several Indian
warriors. From the rifle in the foremost savage's hand a slight veil
of smoke rose. With the leap of a panther the redskin sprang from
the strip of sand to the raft.
"Hold, Jim! Drop that ax! We're caught!" cried Joe.
"It's that Indian from the fort!" gasped Jim.
The stalwart warrior was indeed Silvertip. But how changed! Stripped
of the blanket he had worn at the settlement, now standing naked but
for his buckskin breech-cloth, with his perfectly proportioned form
disclosed in all its sinewy beauty, and on his swarthy, evil face an
expression of savage scorn, he surely looked a warrior and a chief.
He drew his tomahawk and flashed a dark glance at Joe. For a moment
he steadily regarded the young man; but if he expected to see fear
in the latter's face he was mistaken, for the look was returned
coolly.
"Paleface steal shirt," he said in his deep voice. "Fool paleface
play--Silvertip no forget."
Chapter V.
Silvertip turned to his braves, and giving a brief command, sprang
from the raft.
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