“I’ll guarantee that that’ll be done,” was the emphatic pledge of the trapper, who not only meant every word, but knew there would be no withdrawal or deception on the part of his friends.
“But,” added Rickard, who, strangely enough, had overlooked one momentous fact, “what about the Apaches? Old Kimmaho and his gang are out there, and there’s no saying when they’ll go.”
This was the most serious phase of the business. Old Eph had been speculating over it from the moment he left his companions on the elevation.
Now that the terms were agreed upon with the captors of Nick Ribsam, and they were ready to turn him over to his friends, how was he to be escorted back to them?
“Didn’t you have trouble in getting here?” asked the criminal of the trapper.
“I had a little brush, and dropped one of the varmints.”
“That, then, was your pistol that I heard?”
“I shouldn’t wonder, bein’ as I fired off a pistol while tryin’ to make a call on you.”
“If you had such trouble in slipping by the Apaches, you are sure to have a good deal more when the boy is with you. You know old Kimmaho, Eph?”
“I rather think so; he’s as bad as Geronimo.”