The throng of warriors that had pressed so close
about Stabber and the opposing orator seemed all in an instant to split
asunder, and with trailing war bonnet and followed by only two or three
of his braves, the former lashed his way westward and swept angrily out
of the ruck and went circling away toward the crest, while, with loud
acclamation, brandishing shield and lance and rifle in superb barbaric
tableau, the warriors lined up in front of the victorious young leader
who, sitting high in his stirrups, with one magnificent red arm
uplifted, began shouting in the sonorous tongue of the Sioux some urgent
instructions. Down from the distant crest came other braves as though to
meet and ask Stabber explanation of his strange quitting the field. Down
came a dozen others, young braves mad for battle, eager to join the
ranks of this new leader, and Ray, who had turned on Field once more,
fixed his glasses on that stalwart, nearly stark naked, brilliantly
painted form, foremost of the Indian array and now at last in full and
unimpeded view.
"By the gods of war!" he cried. "I never saw that scoundrel before, but
if it isn't that renegade Red Fox--Why, here, Field! Take my glass and
look.
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