The lad trembled from his head to his feet with the intensity of his rage. Then, all at once, he savagely cried:
“You can’t throw me over that way! I won’t let you! You’re getting tired of me, but I’ll make you do just what father said you were to do! You shall not go away and leave me here! I’ll go with you! I will! I will! I will!”
“Don’t get so excited about it,” advised Frank. “That’s where you show a weak spot. If you ever become a successful man in this world, you must learn to govern your temper. You let yourself——”
But Dick refused to listen longer, and, fiercely cutting his horse with his quirt, he went dashing madly toward the distant valley, Frank following behind.
There was a satisfied smile on Merriwell’s face, for he felt that he was winning in his struggle with the obstinate spirit of the boy. But he took care not to let Dick see that smile.
When they arrived at the cabin home of Juan Delores, Old Joe Crowfoot was there, sitting with his back against the wall, grimly smoking his pipe.
He did not even look up as they approached.
CHAPTER XXI.
FROM THE JAWS OF DEATH.
The following day, guided by Old Joe, a party set out on a journey to the mountains, in a secluded valley of which, the old Indian declared, John Swiftwing lived with his half-blood wife. The party was made up of Frank, Bart, Jack, Dick, and the old redskin.
They did not start till past midday, and it was their plan to camp out for at least one night. All were well mounted and armed and prepared for roughing it.