“Long Tom all alone.” “Wal, he won’t be long.” “Why tink so?” “’Cause here’s as’ll send him whar thar are more. Wal, I will.” “Send Long Tom where?” “You’ll see in a minute. But what made ye come down this way alone, Tom? Ye mought ov met some o’ the white men.” “Damme! wish me had.” “What would you do?” “Me do so,” and the savage made a motion with his hands as though he were scalping a person. “You’ve come a good ways lookin’ fur him, wagh!” “Me go furder.” “Thar won’t be need of that.” “Why, white dog round here?” eagerly asked the Indian, approaching nearer. CHAPTER IV. SURROUNDED BY PERIL. This conversation, as will probably be seen, was purposely carried on by Kingman in order to throw the savage off his guard. An encounter he saw was unavoidable between them, and Kingman, in his wounded state, was fearful of the consequences to himself unless he employed some such stratagem as this. He glanced at his rifle and saw he had preserved the priming from loss and moisture. “I think the woods are full of the whites, Tom. Haven’t you seen any?” “Only dem shoot in battle. Me no find any in woods.” “I seed one hid in a tree. Wal, I reckon I did.” “You kill him?” “That’s a purty question to ax Pete Johnson. Thought you knowed better, Tom, than that. Ef Pete didn’t raise thar har bootyful then smash me.” “Eh! fix ’em did, Pete? Good!” added the savage approaching still closer. The two were now within ten yards of each other. Kingman feared a discovery each moment. “Would you like to shoot a white, Tom?” “Eh? wouldn’t Tom serve him so quick!” replied the savage, again going through the motions of scalping in the air. “Wal, just look ’cross the river. Don’t you think there is something there that looks suspicious?” The unsuspecting Indian turned and gazed in the direction indicated. At the same moment he heard the click of Kingman’s rifle. As he turned his alarmed gaze around he received the bullet full in the heart, and with a wild yell sprang several feet in the air. The savage saw at once the treachery which had been practised upon him, and in his death-struggle, as he was, he hurled his tomahawk with tremendous force at Kingman. So truly was it aimed, that a mere accident may be said to have saved his life. He had only lowered his musket, and the barrel was still before his breast. As the weapon whizzed through the air it was driven directly at Kingman’s body, but in its passage it encountered the gun-barrel, emitting a stream of sparks at the concussion, and glanced off several yards into the river, and fell with a loud splash. “There, Long Tom, I didn’t want to kill you, but I had no choice. I feel sorry for you,” said Kingman, as he saw the savage clutching the sand in his agony. He avoided looking at him, and rapidly passed on, hoping to get beyond so sickening a sight.