“What a large fellow that is, yonder, to one side,” observed Carpenter, indicating a powerful, stalwart savage, prominent among the rest.
“Cheyenne,” remarked the guide, taking a huge bite from a “plug o’ Navy,” which he always carried.
“Comanche!” corrected Jack. “He’s no Apache—he isn’t built like one. Tear my lion’s heart out, but I believe I know him,” he suddenly added.
“Durned ef I don’t, too!” declared Simpson, watching him narrowly.
“It’s Red-Knife, the renegade.”
“K’rect!”
“Who is he?” inquired Mr. Wheeler.
“Red-Knife, the Comanche renegade—a notorious, murdering old rat!” replied Jack. “He’s the worst Indian on the plains, and ‘give up’ is something he does not know. Kicked out of his own tribe he joined the Apaches, and since has gained a reputation for cruelty and cunning far above any of the others.”
“We are in danger, then.”
“Danger! Well, I should remark. But look yonder—what in the name of Cimarron Jack, the cock of the walk, does that painted devil mean?”