“How, how, Strong Heart!” said the old man, extending his hand to Frank. “Heap glad to see um.”
“Why, you old wretch!” cried Merry. “We saw you a short time ago down there with that bunch of claim jumpers drinking and whooping things up. What do you mean by such conduct?”
“Old Joe him got very bad rheumatism,” returned the redskin. “Him make medicine. Him think mebbe um white men down there got bad rheumatism, too. He give um white men some medicine. He find um white man drinking a heap. Joe he mix um medicine with drink. They like medicine pretty good. One white man, who lead um, him get shot up a great lot. Him in no shape to lead um some more. So white men they wait for more men to come. Now they very much tired. They sleep a lot. Come down see um sleep. You like it.”
Of a sudden the truth dawned on Frank.
“Why, you clever old rascal!” he laughed. “Hanged if I don’t believe you’ve drugged them some way!”
“Joe he give um medicine, that all,” protested the redskin. “Sometimes medicine make um sleep. Come see.”
“Come on,” said Frank, “we will follow this slick old rascal and find out how hard they are sleeping.”
As they approached the cabins at the lower end of the valley they saw the fires were dying down, while from that locality no longer came shouts and singing, and, in truth, all the ruffians seemed fast asleep on the ground, where they had fallen or flung themselves.
Unhesitatingly Crowfoot led them amid the mass of drugged men, and the sinking firelight revealed on his leathery face a ghost of a shriveled smile.
“Medicine heap good sometimes,” he observed. “Strong Heart find him enemies sleeping. Mebbe he takes hatchet and chop um up? Joe he get many scalps.”