He held a formidable rifle in his right hand, in a trailing position, and was leaning well forward, with his body bent, as he drew near the camp with that stoical patience which the American race shows in the most trying crises.

If necessary, he would continue this cautious advance for hours without showing haste, for it is often that his people circumvent and overthrow an enemy by their incomparable caution and care.
One peculiar feature of the unexpected flaring-up of the light was that its strongest force impinged directly upon the painted face of the Indian, which was seen as plainly by Jack Dudley as if the sun were shining.

The youth felt that he could not forget that countenance if he saw it a hundred years afterward.
Had Jack followed the instruction of their guide he would have leveled his Winchester and shot the Indian dead in his tracks.

The fellow was stealing into camp in such a manner that there could be no doubt the least crime he meant to commit was to steal.

No ranchman or hunter would hesitate a moment, under the circumstances, to give him his eternal quietus.
But Jack Dudley could not do such a thing.