Sergeant Whitley was by the lad's side, and he
glanced at him now and then. The wise sergeant read the youth's face,
and he knew that he was upon a quest, a deadly one.
"Is it Slade you're looking for, Mr. Mason?" he asked.
"Yes, I want him!"
"Well, if we see him, and you miss him, I think I'll take a shot at him
myself."
But Slade, crafty and cunning, kept himself well hidden. The two bands
fighting this Indian combat, while the great battle raged so near them,
were now very near to each other, but as they had both thickets and a
rocky outcrop for refuge, they fought from hiding. Nevertheless many
fell. Dick, the ferocity of the man-hunt continuing to burn his brain,
sought everywhere for Slade. Often he heard his silver whistle directing
his troop, but the man himself remained invisible. In his eagerness the
lad rose too high, but the sergeant pulled him down in time, a bullet
whistling a second later through the air where his head had been.
"Careful, Mr. Mason! Careful!" said Sergeant Whitley. "It won't do you
much good for one of his men to get you while you are trying to get him!"
Dick became more cautious.
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