“Quit yer braggin’ and mind yer eye,” admonished the guide, surlily. “It’s no time ter brag, now.”
“Yes, Cimarron Jack; pray do not breed discord at this critical moment,” said Mr. Wheeler. “See, the hill now hides the savages from our view—the band that rode away.”
“Who’s breeding discord, I’d like to know? I don’t let any mule-whacker say boo, to me, I tell you. However, young bantam,” turning to the driver, “you and I see more of each other, mind that. For the present, there is too much to look after to fool with you.”
CHAPTER VIII.
GIVE AND TAKE.
Cimarron Jack, with these words, turned his back to the sulky Canadian, and carefully reconnoitered the position of the Indians. The chief’s band still remained drawn up in line, facing them like soldiers on a dress-parade; the other was not in sight.
“This won’t do,” remarked Jack. “We must keep an eye on those devils who rode round back of us. First thing we know the whole gang will come whooping on us. That ’ll never do—we must keep them off.”
“But how are we going to do that?” inquired the Canadian.
Jack became nettled.
“Why, peep over the top of the hill, to be sure.”