The Indian was watching him intently.
The man did not appear in any way surprised, elated or disturbed. One would have said that he had been expecting the letter—had foreseen its contents, and had already, in his mind, answered it. His manner was that of one who, having fought and lived through the crisis of a storm, methodically and wearily takes up again the routine duties of his existence.
Calmly, with a shadowy smile that would have caused Marta to think of Saint Jimmy, he spoke.
“What is it that you wish to say, Natachee?”
“I, Natachee the Indian, can now pay the debt I owe Hugh Edwards.”
“You have more than paid that debt, Natachee.”
The red man returned haughtily:
“Is the life of Natachee of such little value that it is paid for by the death of that snake, Sonora Jack, and his companion who stopped the arrow?”
“But for you, Marta would not have escaped from Sonora Jack and the other outlaws,” returned Edwards.
“But for me, no one would know the woman Hugh Edwards loves, except as the Pardners’ girl. Hugh Edwards, but for Natachee, would be free to make her his wife.”