"An' my frien', too," added Ike.
"All right; I no kill for three days," said the chief.
With this understanding Sam received his rifle and the belt containing his ammunition, and one of the Apaches fastened a cord about the dog's neck and dragged the reluctant creature to his own side.
The chief pointed to a distant elevation—it looked to be only a few miles away, though it was actually thirty or more—and said:
"That mountain back Hurley's Gulch. Go there. Keep north side. You find 'em before dark. I come here three days. You bring all things, rifles, pistols, knives, and—and one more thing."
"What is that?" asked Sam.
"Heap tobacco, much lot whisky."
"I will keep my promise," said Sam, who could not but feel that the Indian was decidedly "on the make."
With this understanding Sam and his friends parted from the Apaches, and with their eager eyes fixed on the mountain that marked the site of Hurley's Gulch they hurried on.
The thought that he should meet his father that night gave strength and elasticity to Sam's limbs and filled his heart with a hope that was thrilling in its ecstacy.