Suddenly the chief began to turn--with a jerking motion which showed that he was startled. Some instinct told him that there was an enemy at hand. Perhaps his lips were already opened to give a warning call. Like a stone from the sling the scout leaped forward--as the panther leaps! His knee found the small of the Indian’s back; his left had clutched his throat like a vise; his right drove his keen blade downward--_and home_! The redskin crumpled and fell without a sound upon the earth. Not even a cough or death-rattle proclaimed the passing of his spirit. And the number of seconds occupied in the killing were infinitesimal. One moment the red chief stood there leaning on the broken tree; the next Texas Jack, in his Indian garb, had taken his place and assumed his attitude! Unless some member of the tribe had been near enough to watch the chief continuously, this action of the scout’s was inspired. The chief had gone down and lay dead under his feet; the white man had taken his place, and for several moments, while he recovered his breath, he stood there in the exact attitude the real Indian had assumed in life. Carefully he scrutinized his surroundings as closely as might be for the gloom. He became aware at length that a warrior was stalking toward him from the left--undoubtedly one of the sentinels. This man came on, saw the supposed chief standing by the tree stub, and made a gesture as though he were saluting his superior. “Ugh!” muttered Texas Jack in an excellent imitation of an Indian guttural. He did not care to risk his Sioux intonation if he could help it. The sentinel went on. Texas Jack was about to change his position and make for the fort when he saw the sentinel who had just passed and another, returning. They would pass him very closely. Did they suspect? Had the first brave become suspicious, and was he bringing the second to help him attack the supposed chief? The thought sent a chill to the heart of the courageous scout. It seemed to him that, thus early in the game, he had come to a death-struggle with the redskins! CHAPTER IX. BREAKING THROUGH THE RED CIRCLE. Slowly the two braves approached Texas Jack’s position. The scout dared not change his attitude--he could not afford to put the men on guard if they _were_ still unsuspicious of him. His rifle-butt rested on the ground; his elbows leaned upon the tree stub; he stared straight across the valley to where the camp-fires twinkled, and to where two or three points of light, and the gloomy outline of the tall stockade, proclaimed the presence of the fort. Would the two warriors speak to him?--or would they respect his apparent reverie and pass on? Out of the corner of his eye Texas Jack watched the coming sentinels. Every muscle and nerve in his body was strained for a spring. He had made up his mind already what action he should take did the reds show that they meant to accost him.