“No one could call you a coward,” said Perry firmly.
“Oh yes, they could—a miserable, selfish coward.”
“I should just like to hear any one call you one,” said Perry viciously, and with a hard, fierce look in his countenance.
“Then you soon shall,” said Cyril. “I call myself one a dozen times a day. There, I’m a coward.”
“But I meant some one else.”
“You wait long enough, and you’ll hear my father call me one.”
“You’re not.”
“Yes, I am, and I shall deserve all he says—that is, if we ever get back to San Geronimo.”
“Don’t talk like that,” said Perry. “What’s to prevent us?”
“Indians,” said Cyril mournfully.