“Great Scott!” gasped South-paw.
“Thunder!” rasped Buzzsaw.
“Wow!” barked Clinker.
“Whoop!” cried old Joe Crowfoot.
“How in blazes did he get into this room?” snarled Stover.
“Heap easy,” declared the aged Indian sweetly. “Nice big hole in top of little room. Old Joe climb up on shelves, wiggle through hole, come right in. How, how. Much glad. You got ’nother seat, he take-um hand in little game.”
“The nerve of it!” exploded Warwhoop.
“Kick him out!” roared Clinker. “Open the door, Willie. We’ll drop him out on his neck.”
But when Clinker and Stover took a step toward the old Indian, the latter silently produced a long, wicked-looking knife.
“Try to kick-um old Joe, he make nice mince meat of you,” said Crowfoot.