“I guess I’ll try it. They hev hed a right smart chaince ter know what kind of stuff we ar’ made of, and mebbe they’ve got enuff. Anyhow, I kin only try it. Who’s got a han’kercher? Don’t all speak ter onc’t, ’cause I knows yer don’t blow yer noses onc’t a week. Not thet one, Granny; they’ll think it’s a black flag and shoot at me. No, Pipes, old boy; they’d kick on thet, too; they’ll think it’s a battle-flag, full ov holes. Hyar’s one will do.”
He took the handkerchief which Dave presented, fastened it on a ramrod and rode away toward the pass. At first the Indians showed a disposition to fire at him, but at a word from the man who acted as leader of the whites, Jim Diggs, they lowered their weapons, and the leader stepped a few paces to the front and waited for the coming of the hunter, who rode on, shaking out his hastily-improvised flag.
“Hullo, Jim,” he said, coolly. “Durn my cats ef I’ve seen ye sence the day Captain Burns hed ye hosswhipped out’n Laramie fur stealing his blankets. I’m mighty glad ter see ye.”
“Play yer game a little more keerful, old man,” said Diggs, playing with the butt of his revolver. “I kain’t ante or foller suit when ye lead that way.”
“Pass it, then,” replied Old Pegs; “but don’t try ter skeer me by laying hands on a weepen, or I’ll come down on yer like a roaring lion and devour ye, body and bonos. I’m mighty hungry, anyhow.”
“This ain’t business,” replied Diggs, seeing that bravado was of no avail. “What d’ye mean by pitching inter us, this way?”
“Jimmy—Jimmy Diggs!” said Old Pegs, “whatever ye do, play fa’r. Didn’t you try to wipe us out, over north, night afore last?”
“I guess you’ve made a mistake, old man. We don’t seek to harm no one.”
“No more Velveteens didn’t, nor yet Rafe Norris, eh? Come, Jim, don’t be so cussid foolish. Whar’s my gal?”
“Your gal! I dunno what ye mean; we hain’t got no gal, ez I knows on.”