The trappers acquiesced in the decision of their companion, and felt certain that the Blackfoot had been a victim to the fury of the brute that had so terrified them. It was plain that he had been struck a terrible blow on the head and face, a blow that had crushed in his skull as though it were an egg-shell.
Here there was a demonstration of what this fearful creature could do, when excited by anger, and it sent a natural shudder through the whole three.
“I tell yer,” said old Stebbins, in a solemn undertone, “it wouldn’t take much to turn me back ag’in toward the States.”
Black Tom was silent a moment, and then shook his head.
“No; thar’s gold around us, and we’ll stay long ’nough to git some of it to pay fur comin’ hyar.”
“I’d rather have the Blackfeet swarmin’ all around, than that ar’ single critter.”
“So would I; but how you goin’ to help it?”
“Kaap with me,” said Teddy. “The baste and mesilf ar’ on the bist of terms, as me Bridget remarked whin she threw her parlor-sofa (that she used as a bootjack) at me hid, and by r’ason of me prisence wid yees, ye’ll be thrated in the same ilegant shtyle.”
All this might be true, but there was little probability of it, and the two trappers were too great veterans in the service to place any reliance upon it. Indeed they believed it would be fatal foolhardiness for the Irishman to trust himself in its power again.