“They have come to trade baskets, buckskin shirts, moccasins, almost anything, for liquor. It is probable there will be two thousand visitors there to-day, and the Apaches will get all the rum they want. To-morrow they may start out murdering and torturing.”
Inza shuddered.
“It seems to me that the white men are to blame for letting them have liquor,” she said.
“Perhaps so, but you know there are fools and rascals among the white men. Remember my warning; keep away from the Apache camp. Good-morning.”
Again lifting his hat, he walked onward.
CHAPTER XIX—ON DANGEROUS GROUND
Behind a clump of mesquite stood John Swiftwing, and he had heard the entire conversation. He was there when Frank and Inza met Carver, and he did not stir. He had not sought to listen, and he did not think it his duty to reveal himself.
Swiftwing’s eyes flashed fire and his brow grew dark as he listened to the words of the gambler, but a softer light came to his face when he heard Inza defending him so bravely.
He folded his arms upon his breast and stood there in a proud pose, his nostrils dilated.
At that moment he would have made a perfect model for an artist or sculptor.