"Aw, I was just fooling," he said. "I was going to give it back to 'em. Here 'tis. There ain't no prize offered, anyhow." And he handed it to the man.
The man turned it over in his fingers. We watched. We hoped he'd make them untie us and he'd pass it to us and tell us to skip. But after he had turned it over and over, he smiled, kind of grimly, and stuck it in his hip pocket.
"I reckon I'd like to make that twenty-five dollars myself," he said. And then he rode to one side, and dismounted; he loosened the cinches and made ready as if to camp. And they all let him.
Now, that was bad for us, again. The gang had our flags and our burros, and he had our message.
"That's our message. We're carrying it through just for fun and for practice," called the general. "It's no good to anybody except us."
"Bueno," said the man—which is Mexican or Spanish for "Good." He was squatting and building a little fire.
"Aren't you going to give it to us and make them let us go?"
He grunted. "Don't bother me. I'm busy."
That was all we could get out of him. Now it was growing dark and cold. The gang was grumbling and accusing Bill of being "bluffed" and all that, but they didn't make any effort to attack the man. They all were afraid of him; they didn't have nerve. They just grumbled and talked of what Bill ought to have done, and proceeded to cook supper and to loaf around. Our hands were behind our backs and we were tied like dogs to trees.
And suddenly, while watching the man, I noticed that he was doing things left-handed, and quick as a wink I saw that the sole of his left shoe was worn through! And if he wasn't riding a roan horse, he was riding a saddle with brass-bound stirrups, anyway. A man may trade horses, but he keeps to his own saddle. This was the beaver man! We three Scouts exchanged signs of warning.