“See here,” said Gaylor, fairly white with passion, “I’ve had enough of you! I’d like to—I’d like to see these dogs burn you. I hate you!”
“All right,” replied Jim, and was about uttering some more badinage, when Edwin requested him to keep still.
Before the conversation could be resumed, the Mohave who was brought so prominently into notice at the beginning of our narrative, walked up to Jim and Edwin and motioned to them to stand up. They did so, the boy still holding his gun. He then led them about a rod away, halted, pointed to the northward, placed his left hand on the back of Edwin, and gave him a gentle shove, and then did the same with Jim.
“Golly, dat means trabbel, an’ here’s de gemman what’s goin’ to frow himself out all kinder loose like!” exclaimed the delighted African, as he straightway began what may be termed “tall walking.”
“Hallo!” he exclaimed, abruptly halting after a few steps, “I forgot to tank you. Much obliged. Good-bye.”
Edwin expressed his thanks as well as he could by pantomime and hurried after his sable friend.
The Golden Rule! Golden, indeed, and the true measure by which to mark our steps to Heaven. Here were two lives saved by the one “little deed of kindness.”
They walked rapidly some distance, and then Edwin placed his slight hand upon the colossal shoulder of the negro.
“Well, what be it?” demanded Jim, looking down in his pale face.
“I’m afraid they are going to kill Gaylor.”