Byers was very thankful for his deliverance and expressed gratitude quite warmly; but the Irishman remained silent. Instead of replying to the questions that Benning addressed to him, he only shook his head, and pointed to his tongue.
“What is the matter with Denny?” asked the partisan, in surprise.
“The critter has gone dumb,” replied Byers. “When I told him that the red-skins allowed to burn us, he swore that he wouldn’t speak a word for six months, if he could git out of the scrape. I thought the durned fool was jokin’; but it seems he was in ‘arnest, as he has helt out so fur without speakin’.”
“If he had made that resolution earlier, it would have been better for all of us. How did it happen that you were not burned?”
“The red-skins took us out to roast us. They tied us to stakes and built a fire around us. It was all up with this child, I allowed, and the fire was jest beginnin’ to scorch, when a white man stepped in and scattered the fire, and swore that they shouldn’t burn us while he lived.”
“I should think he would not have been likely to live long, after that.”
“I tell ye, cap’n, he skeered ’em. Some of them red-skins nearly turned white. Thar was some talk, and then a lot of red-skins j’ined the white man, and thar was a right smart chance fur a big row; but it quieted down arter a bit, and then they turned us loose.”
“It is very strange. It is seldom that a white man gains such influence among the Blackfeet. Do you know who he was?”
“They called him Silverspur. He was young, but a right smart chance of a man.”
“Silverspur? I have heard of him; in fact, I have seen him. His name is Wilder, if I remember rightly. He is a brave man, and fine-looking, but of an unsettled disposition. It would not surprise me if he had joined the Blackfeet. If he has, they will not keep him long. What has become of Sam Glass?”