Joe closely watched the place where his assailant had disappeared,
and presently saw a dark hand, then a naked elbow, and finally the
ramrod of a rifle. The savage was reloading. Soon a rifle-barrel
protruded from behind the tree. With his heart beating like a
trip-hammer, and the skin tightening on his face, Joe screened his
body as best he might. The tree was small, but it served as a
partial protection. Rapidly he revolved in his mind plans to outwit
the enemy. The Indian was behind a large oak with a low limb over
which he could fire without exposing his own person to danger.
"Bang!" The Indian's rifle bellowed; the bullet crumbled the bark
close to Joe's face. The lad yelled loudly, staggered to his knees,
and then fell into the path, where he lay quiet.
The redskin gave an exultant shout. Seeing that the fallen figure
remained quite motionless he stepped forward, drawing his knife as
he came. He was a young brave, quick and eager in his movements, and
came nimbly up the path to gain his coveted trophy, the paleface's
scalp.
Suddenly Joe sat up, raised his rifle quickly as thought, and fired
point-blank at the Indian.
But he missed.
The redskin stopped aghast when he saw the lad thus seemingly come
back to life. Then, realizing that Joe's aim had been futile, he
bounded forward, brandishing his knife, and uttering infuriated
yells.
Pages:
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195