“One more chance before I scatter your brains upon the sod,” hissed Dave. “Will you stop those Indians? Speak their language—you know how.”
Rafe Norris cast one look at the stern face of the captain of scouts, and saw that a refusal would be death to him. He turned and shouted to the advancing Indians, and to the surprise of Old Pegs, who thought that Dave had made a mistake, they halted immediately, while cries of surprise could be heard among them, and the others came running up. Those who had been halted by the command of Rafe Norris pointed him out as he stood in the grasp of Dave, and it was plain that they knew him and were surprised to see him in his present position.
“Do you see that, Old Pegs?” cried Farrell. “Now doz you tell me that this fellow knows nothing of the Modoc Sioux?”
“Stranger,” said Old Pegs, “I’ve warmed a viper in my buzzum. Now then, order them pizen sarpints ter git. The quicker they go, the longer they’ll hev the satisfaction on knowing that you ar’ alive.”
“Why should they obey me?” replied Rafe. “You are a couple of cowardly hounds to attack an unsuspecting man in this way.”
“‘Unsuspecting’! Oh, yes—thet’s a good word, but you jest send ’em away all the same or I’ll pulverize you—I will, by the sacred groves of Ireland. You hear me a-talking?”
Rafe saw that the game was up, and that he might as well save his life if possible.
“What shall I tell them?”
“Tell ’em to go down to the sulphur spring at the base of the North Canon, and wait fur you thar.”
Rafe hesitated, but the circle of cold steel upon his temple cowed him for the time, and he shouted the required order. Signal cries were heard, and the pursuers of Whirlwind came back on the run, having been unsuccessful in their attempt to overtake that redoubted chief who had found some avenue of escape. The orders of Rafe Norris were repeated, and the whole party trooped away down the pass, leaving Rafe still in the hands of Farrell.