"If they are coming, it is time they showed themselves."

The words were yet in the mouth of the youth, when something seemed
to twinkle and flicker among the trees, in advance of the point
where he had turned aside from the path. A second look allowed that
two Indian warriors were returning along the trail.

He recognized them as Shawanoes--one of the fiercest tribes that
resisted the march of civilization a century ago. It may be said
that they corresponded to the Apaches of the present day.

The couple were scrutinizing the ground, as they advanced with heads
thrown forward and their serpent-like eyes flitting from side to
side. Manifestly they were expecting to discover certain parties
along the trail itself. There may have been something in the
peculiar sound of the rifle, which raised their suspicions, though
it is hard to understand wherein the report of two similarly made
weapons can possess any perceptible difference.

Be that as it may, that which Jack Carleton feared had taken
place--the shot which killed the cougar brought far more dangerous
enemies to the spot.

The lad would have had no difficulty in picking off one of the
warriors, but he had not the remotest intention of doing so. There
could be no justification for such a wanton act, and the consequences
could not fail to be disastrous to himself. He was never better
prepared to support the creed of the frontiersmen who would willingly
leave the red men unmolested if they in turn sought to do them no harm.