"Do you happen to know," she demanded contentiously, "that Elmo and these cowboys ran away? Well, they did—ran away from those Mexicans like cowards—and now look at the way they act!"
The cowboys winced but Isham was excited and he paid scant attention to his helpmeet.
"Now come on, boys," he ordered, "ketch up your horses and git ready and we'll go out and meet the danged Mexicans. But no shooting, savvy, until I give the word; unless they shoot at us first."
He paced up and down while they ran to saddle their horses and Miz Zoolah assailed his ears with complaints; but he only glanced at her absently, slapping his boot with his quirt and staring off towards the Bassetts.
"Where are them Sorry Blacks at?" he demanded of Meshackatee. "Have you seen 'em around this morning? The dirty, half-Injun bastards, they may be laying in wait for us—better send somebody over to the store."
"I'll go!" volunteered Elmo, making a run to mount his horse, but Isham motioned him back.
"You look out, kid," he warned, "them Injuns are treacherous. They're liable to shoot you from the bresh."
He turned to Meshackatee and as they consulted together Hall felt Isham's eyes fixed upon him. Beneath their bleached, white lashes they regarded him coldly, as if appraising his worth as a spy; and at last, as Meshackatee drove his point home and nailed it, the chief of the Scarboroughs beckoned. But McIvor stood firm, his mouth grimly set, his eyes far away on the hills, and Meshackatee understood.
"I'll tell him," he said, and half an hour later McIvor rode forth over towards the store.