The savage had tried to kill him, perhaps, even now, had it
not been for the hunter's unerring aim, would have been gloating
over a bloody scalp.
Joe felt, rather than heard, the approach of some one, and he turned
to see Wetzel coming down the path.
"He's a lone Shawnee runner," said the hunter, gazing down at the
dead Indian. "He was tryin' to win his eagle plumes. I seen you both
from the hillside."
"You did!" exclaimed Joe. Then he laughed. "It was lucky for me. I
tried the dodge you taught me, but in my eagerness I missed."
"Wal, you hadn't no call fer hurry. You worked the trick clever, but
you missed him when there was plenty of time. I had to shoot over
your shoulder, or I'd hev plugged him sooner."
"Where were you?" asked Joe.
"Up there by that bit of sumach!" and Wetzel pointed to an open
ridge on a hillside not less than one hundred and fifty yards
distant.
Joe wondered which of the two bullets, the death-seeking one fired
by the savage, or the life-saving missile from Wetzel's fatal
weapon, had passed nearest to him.
"Come," said the hunter, after he had scalped the Indian.
"What's to be done with this savage?" inquired Joe, as Wetzel
started up the path.
"Let him lay."
They returned to camp without further incident. While the hunter
busied himself reinforcing their temporary shelter--for the clouds
looked threatening--Joe cut up some buffalo meat, and then went down
to the brook for a gourd of water.
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