The boy straightened himself up proudly and turned away. But Jules seized him by the arm.
“He must not go,” he said.
“What ye gwine to do about it?” said Ben. “Let go his arm. The fust thing ye know ye’ll git us into some kind of trouble with yer durned nonsense.”
“He must not go, I say,” replied Jules, angrily. “Our lives are in danger.”
“Ye ain’t helpin’ us by techin’ the boy,” said Ben. “Let him go.”
“I will not,” was the reply.
“Ye won’t, eh?” cried Ben, throwing up his rifle. “Then I’ll bet my life I make daylight shine through yer karkidge in about half a minute. Drop yer hold.”
Jules obeyed sullenly, and the boy, turning a grateful look at the trapper, darted across the prairie. Jules turned to the trapper with a lowering brow.
“You have had your way, it seems. We will see what will come of it. But let me tell you one thing: do not point your rifle at me again, or something may happen to you.”
“Don’t git up on yer ear about it. I ain’t goin’ to hev no bloodshed thet kin be helped, I ain’t. S’pose ye’d ’a’ killed this boy—and a brave young feller he is too—what good would ’a’ come of it? ’Twould ’a’ brought them down on us all the sooner, thet’s all. So don’t say nothing to me.”