"How have I betrayed the paleface?" the Indian replied, still perfectly calm. "He offered me a bargain; I refused it. I see nothing dishonest in that."
The Mexican bit his lip with rage; he was caught, and could make no reply.
"I will revenge myself," he said, stamping his foot.
"The Black Bear is a powerful chief; he laughs at the croaking of the ravens. The paleface can do nothing against him."
With a movement swift as thought, the Mexican rushed on the Indian, seized him by the throat, and, drawing his dagger, raised it to strike him. But the Apache carefully watched the actions of his opponent: by a movement no less swift he freed himself from his grasp, and with one bound was out of reach.
"The paleface has dared to touch a chief," he said in a hoarse voice; "he shall die."
The Mexican shrugged his shoulders and seized the pistol in his girdle.
It is impossible to say how this scene would have ended, had not a new incident happened to change its features completely. From the same tree in which the Mexican had been hidden a few moments previously, another individual suddenly fell, rushed on the chief, and hurled him to the ground before he could make a gesture to defend himself, so thoroughly was he off his guard.
"By Jove!" Belhumeur muttered with a stifled laugh, "there must be a legion of devils in that tree."
The Mexican and the man who had come so luckily to his help had securely tied the Indian with a reata.