"Let my brother listen," the chief went on. "Curumilla has seen the paleface: he will kill him."
"Hum! Do not go to work so fast, chief. In the first place tell me who he is; then we shall see what we have to do. Unfortunately we are not here on the prairies: the death of that individual, whoever he may be, might cost us dear."
"The palefaces are women," the Indian replied disdainfully.
"That is possible, chief; but prudent. Tomorrow is not passed, as you gentlemen say, and every man gains his point who knows how to wait. For the present let us be shy; we are not the stronger."
Curumilla shrugged his shoulders. It was plain that the worthy Indian was not a friend to temporising measures; still he did not raise the slightest objection.
"Come, chief, tell me who he is, and under what circumstances we had a quarrel with him."
The Indian rose and stood right in front of Valentine.
"Does not my brother remember?" he asked.
"No."
"Wah! The conspiracy of the Paso del Norte, when Curumilla killed Dog-face."