“No good do that,” a quiet voice came to them from right beside them in the shadow of the doorway.
“Feather-in-the-Wind!” gasped Bob. “You back?”
“I go myself trail Miguel. I catch his track and run swiftly. Big moon help much. Pretty soon I see little light just below big dam in bushes.”
“Was it—was it some strange Mexicans?” asked Ted excitedly.
“Yes. All got guns. Horses too. Bad men.”
“Your bandits!” whispered Bob to Ted. The other boy nodded an assent. “Go on,” he urged the Indian.
“I crawl up. Much big talk. Miguel talk much. Think want Greasers start trouble. Greaser leader say no start trouble till Miguel get Greasers here start trouble too. Pretty soon Miguel he start back towards camp. But much afraid you tell ’bout dynamite dam and people watch for him. He go slow. I run behind. Catch—”
“You killed him?”
The Indian came as near to chuckling as he was able.
“No kill. Tie, gag, throw in bushes. Him no more trouble to-night. Then come here get you.”