It was a home-made arrow.
"What you shootin' at ?" demanded Bill Jordan.
"That infernal Injun," whined Dorgan.

"He's bin pesterin' me; follerin' me like a shadow." The vigilantes peered into the darkness, and made out a hummock on the prairie.

It was a dead horse, and from behind it Injun rose and came toward the group.

He had been reassured by the sound of Bill's voice.
"Lemme go!" cried Dorgan.

"I don't want no more truck with him," and he started as if to run, but was roughly held back.
"What's all this rumpus about, Injun ?" Bill Jordan demanded, when the boy was within hearing.
Injun indicated Dorgan.