At last Wilder heard a rustling in the timber. He bent forward and listened, striving to look through the darkness, but not doubting that it was his friend who was approaching.
The noise ceased, and again it commenced; but it did not seem to draw any nearer. It might be some animal scratching among the leaves, or it might be White Shield feeling his way in the darkness. Wilder thought it best to try to find out what it really was.
“Is that you, White Shield?” he asked, in a whisper.
In reply, he was startled by the growling of an Indian dog, and the next instant the animal came running up to him, barking most vociferously.
“Confound this noisy little pest!” he exclaimed. “I must put a stop to his racket, or he will bring the red-skins on me.”
He aimed a blow at the brute with the butt of his rifle, but missed it, and the dog ran toward the village, and then ran back, barking as spitefully and as loud as it could.
Wilder knew well that he would be compelled to change his location; but he greatly disliked to do so before the return of White Shield, as they would then be separated, and might not be able to come together again. He had no doubt that the noise would be heard at the village, and that the Indians, knowing from the dog’s manner of barking that it had not started any game, would sally out to see what was the matter. In that event he would be compelled to fly; but he hoped that White Shield might arrive before that step should become necessary.
Soon he heard steps approaching, and an Indian speaking to the dog.
“It is only one,” thought Wilder, and he decided that he could easily put that one out of the way, and might then wait a little longer for his friend. He concealed himself, therefore, behind the trunk of a large tree, confident that the dog would bring the Indian to him.
So it happened. The Indian followed the dog to the tree, which he approached, cautiously at first, and then boldly, having convinced himself that the dog had only discovered some animal, which had taken refuge there. As soon as he was near enough, Wilder stepped out, and struck at him with his knife.
In the darkness the blow was badly aimed. It made a mortal wound; but the Arapaho had strength enough before he fell to clinch his adversary, and to utter a piercing yell. Wilder hastened to give him his death-blow; but the mischief was done, and the dog ran toward the village, barking more violently than ever.