“I catch him. Not catch any other—Mexican.” The way the Indian said the last word showed the contempt he felt for the boy who had sold out his friends.
“Good! We’ll keep him until Boss Whitney can attend to his case.” Bob rather expected Jerry to say something, but as there was no sound from him, he continued:
“I think we’d better go back to camp. The shooting over there sounds as if our part of the job is over. Think so?”
“Ugh!” grunted Feather-in-the-Wind, by way of saying yes. So, still keeping his hold on Jerry, he led the way back to the Townsite. As they marched, Bob suddenly realized that after the first yell and charge from the Indians he had not heard or seen anything of them.
“Where are your young men?” he demanded of the Indian.
“I send ’em back. Watch Mexican house. Mebbeso white men need help. All can do was scare Mexican. No got guns ’nough make fight.”
“No need to bother about the Greasers in camp. They won’t make any trouble.” It was the first word spoken by their captive.
“Why?” flashed Bob, quick to take advantage of Jerry’s loosened lips.
“I’ll tell Mr. Whitney and no one else,” was the defiant answer. Jerry’s first remark had evidently been surprised out of him and now he was again in control of himself.
No amount of urging or surprise questions sufficed to break his silence and the little party came to the lower camp before he had opened his lips.