“He’s a fine, staunch fellow,” said the Captain, kindly, as this request was interpreted. “But we can’t take him. Tell him so, Ballin, and also that he can serve his brother’s interests better by going back to his people and notifying them that in the event of their making any attack upon us either now or along the road, the prisoner will be shot dead.”
This was interpreted, and at War Wolfs request the two Indians were allowed a few moments’ conversation together. Then Burnt Shoes, having taken leave of his brother, strode away, looking straight in front of him.
The threat and the warning were by no means superfluous. As the troopers appeared outside with their prisoner, the bands of savages clustered hard by sprang to their feet with an angry shout. Many of the warriors could be seen fitting arrows to their bowstrings, and the click of locks was audible as they handled their rifles in very suggestive fashion.
Even the emphatic message which Burnt Shoes strove to deliver, concerning the fate awaiting his brother in the event of a rescue, was hardly heard. The clamour redoubled, and the attitude of the savages became menacing to the last degree. Meanwhile the cavalry escort, with its prisoner in the midst, had got under way, and was retiring cautiously, and at a foot’s pace. By this time, however, the authority of Mahto-sapa, and the earnest appeals of Burnt Shoes, had availed to quell the tumult. The crowd began to melt away. By twos and threes, or in little groups of ten or twelve, the warriors began to disperse over the plain in all directions, only the chief, with comparatively few followers, remaining.
“Say, but there’ll be trouble when those chaps come up with the sodgers,” said the lank storekeeper, contemplating the retreating Indians. “They’ll jump ’em in an overwhelming crowd somewheres about Blue Forks, and I’ll risk ten dollars there’ll not be a scalp left in that command.”
“Well, I’m going to persuade the residue to hear reason, anyhow,” said Vipan carelessly, making a step towards the door.
“Don’t risk it,” urged his friend, promptly. “They’re plaguy mad, and it’s puttin’ your head into the alligator’s jaws to go among ’em jes now.”
“Well, you see, it’s this way,” was the rejoinder. “They are plaguy mad just now, as you say, but they’ll be madder by-and-by. A classical authority has said, ‘agree with thine adversary quickly,’ and I’m going to agree with mine.”
“You’re a dead man if you do,” said the storekeeper.
“No fear. Mahto-sapa and I are rather friends. I reckon I’m going to sleep in his village to-night, and I’ll risk twenty dollars if you like, Seth Davis, that I look round here again, with all my hair on, within a month.”