“How does it git there?”
“Have you noticed a certain old Injun in this bunch sence we started out?” asked the officer.
“No,” said Bland, shaking his head. “I looks fer him some, but he is not yere. Does yer mean to insinuate that the old varmint loaded this bunch with dope?”
“Well, how does it look to you?”
“Why, ding his old pelt!” exclaimed the captive indignantly. “Some of the boys knowed him. Some o’ them had seen him afore. One or two had seen him to their sorrer. They say to me that he plays poker somewhat slick. When he comes ambling into our camp, seeming a whole lot jagged hisself, I was a bit suspicious; but the boys what knowed him says he is all right, and so I takes a drink with him. Arter that I gits a heap sleepy and snoozes. Next I knows you is there, Pete, and you has us nailed solid.”
“That’s about the way of it,” nodded Curry.
“And the old whelp dopes us, does he!” growled Texas Bland. “Whatever does he do that fer?”
“Why, Bland, that yere old redskin is a friend of Mr. Merriwell. He gives you the dope to help Merriwell. When we comes down into the valley there and finds you all sleeping sweetly, the old Injun proposes to scalp you up some. To be course, we objects, and then he seems mighty disappointed-like. He seems to think he is cheated. He seems to reckon that, having done the job so slick, your scalps belong to him.”
Bland listened with a strange look on his face and a vengeful glare in his deepset eyes.
“So that’s however it is!” he growled. “Well, I am some glad I finds it out.”