"W'at say me cookee blekfas'?" said Wah Shin, in whom the desire to be at work was stronger than his fear of the savages.
"I don't think they'll let you cook," said Sam.
"Den me tly. Dey say 'no,' den me stopee. Let 'em hab way."
Wah Shin opened the bundle, took out the few remaining rabbits, and going over to the fire, he deliberately raked the coals and began to warm the decidedly simple breakfast.
The Apaches offered no objections to the actions of the Chinaman, though they watched him with the eager curiosity of children at a circus.
The Apaches make a bread from the pounded roots of the maguey or mountain aloe, of which they always carry a supply when on their war forays or hunting expeditions.
This bread is sweet and nutritious, and that it will keep for a long time in its original state is shown by the fact that the recorder of these stirring incidents has still in his possession some of this bread, which he obtained in the mountains of Arizona fifteen years ago.
The odor of the rabbits on the coals reached the nostrils of the chief, and it must have soothed his anger somewhat, for he spoke to his companions in the Apache tongue, and they at once pulled a lot of this bread from their buckskin haversacks—it resembled plugs of very black tobacco and tasted better than it looked—and they gave Sam, Ike and Wah Shin each a piece.
"This is all the food we have left," said Sam, addressing the chief and pointing to the rabbits, "but we shall be glad to share with you, and if you guide us to Hurley's Gulch I will pledge my word that you shall have all I promised you before."
The chief replied to this with a grunt that showed he was still far from feeling good-natured, still he proved that he was not only very hungry, but also very selfish, by devouring one of the four rabbits without asking any outside assistance.