A dangerous light shone in the black eyes of the Indian. Evidently he had no liking for the race of the young man, and his resentment was roused by his words and manner.
"He mine; me take him; you thief!"
It occurred to Fred Greenwood at this moment that it would be unwise as well as perilous to quarrel with this denizen of the wilderness. He was in middle life, active, powerful, wiry and unscrupulous. The youth was no match for him in a personal encounter; besides which he noticed that the fellow carried a Winchester like his own, not to mention the formidable knife at his waist.
Still the lad was too proud to yield the point without protest. Besides, he was growing anxious about that supper which hung suspended in the balance.
"It's only fair that you should give me a part of the body; you can't eat a tenth part of it. You must divide."
"He mine—me take all—white dog have none—me kill him."
"You will, eh? I shall have something to say about that."
It was Jack Dudley who uttered these words as he strode into view from the direction taken a few minutes before by his comrade.
The Indian had detected the approach of Jack before he spoke and before Fred knew of his coming. He raised his head like a flash, and the dark, threatening expression vanished, succeeded by the grin that was there when he first appeared to the younger lad.
"Howdy, brother?" he said, extending his hand, which was taken rather gingerly by the surprised youth, who recognized him as Motoza, the vagrant Sioux, with whom he had had the singular experience some nights before, when encamped in the grove on the prairie.