awkwardly and refused to give the needed help
when called upon.

Still all this might be pretence, intended to deceive the youth into
uncovering himself. Warren did not lose sight of that probability.

The action of the Sioux was precisely what it would have been had he,
knowing that he was confronted by a merciless enemy, done his utmost,
while badly wounded in the right arm, to bring his weapon to bear upon
him. There was no hesitation or trouble with the left arm, but it was
the other which, from appearances, refused to answer the call upon it.

It was seen to move aimlessly about, but still was unable to help in
aiming, and the hand could not manipulate the trigger--an impotence
which, if actual, was fatal.

But who can trust an Indian? Knowing that his slightest action could not
escape the keen eyes of the youthful horseman a short distance away, was
he not likely to direct every movement with the purpose of deceiving
him?

The truth must show itself soon; but be it what it might, Warren Starr
had the comforting belief that he was master of the situation. He was
unharmed, with his ready Winchester in such position that he could use
it like a flash. As yet the Sioux had not brought himself to the point
of aiming, and Warren was watching him so closely that he could
anticipate his firing. He was resolved that the instant he attempted to
shoot he would let fly, and end the singular prairie duel.

It has taken considerable time to make all this clear, but the incidents
from the fall of the Sioux to the close occupied but a few minutes.

Young Starr spoke in a low voice to his pony, who began moving slowly
toward the prostrate Indian, the rider holding his weapon ready as
before. Jack took short and very deliberate steps, for he did not like
the appearance of things. A man lying on the ground is always a
disquieting object to a horse, and this one had already felt the sting
of the Indian's anger when the bullet clipped a tiny speck out of his
ear. Warren Starr was resolved to learn the truth, and he did so before
Jack had advanced a dozen steps.

CHAPTER XXVII.

A GOOD SAMARITAN.

The young rancher was yet some distance from the prostrate foe, when his
quick eye discovered something. It was a crimson stain on the snow near
the stock of the Indian's rifle.

The miscreant was wounded; he was not shamming.

It was remarkable that with this discovery came an utter revulsion of
feeling on the part of