"Goodness gracious! I had done nothing; did he want to kill me?"
"No, he wanted to shake hands with you; he is a fool."
"Oh, only to shake hands with me? And why did you not let him? I could have borne that."
"Because he is a fool," the scout ventured, and then in tones which carried the meaning, "Shake hands with you!"
"I see; I understand; you were protecting me; but he must hate you. I believe he will harm you; those dreadful Indians are so relentless, I have heard. Why did we ever go near the creatures? What will he do, Mr. Ermine?"
The scout cast his eye carefully up at the sky and satisfied the curiosity of both by drawling, "A—hu!"
"Well—well, Mr. Ermine, do not ever go near them again; I certainly would not if I were you. I shall see papa and have you removed from those ghastly beings. It is too dreadful. I have seen all I care to of them; let us go home, Mr. Butler."
The two—the young lady and the young man—bowed to Ermine, who touched the brim of his sombrero, after the fashion of the soldiers. They departed up the road, leaving Ermine to go, he knew not where, because he wanted to go only up the road. The abruptness of white civilities hashed the scout's contempt for time into fine bits; but he was left with something definite, at least, and that was a deep, venomous hatred for Lieutenant Butler; that was something he could hang his hat on. Then he thought of the "fool," and his footsteps boded ill for that one.