A belt and holster hung at his hip, and the handle of a Colt forty-four was within easy reach.
"White papoose where go?" asked the Indian, showing a row of sharpened teeth.
"Hunt coyote," replied Dick, in a voice that trembled.
"Heap fool. No catch coyote," said the Indian, reaching over and lifting Dick's Remington from the saddle.
He sighted it, turned it around in his hand, and then coolly slung it over his shoulder.
"Here, give that to me," said Dick sturdily. With this act of theft all his courage came back to him. No dirty Indian should have the rifle Stella had given him.
But the Indian only grinned.
"Me heap brave," said the Indian. "Me Pokopokowo."
He looked at Dick as if he expected the boy to be deeply impressed.
"I don't care who you are. I want my rifle," cried Dick.