“But what am I to do? Am I going to sit still and allow myself to be cheated? That’s the way folks do things in St. Louis.”
“Yes; but it isn’t the way they do here. You needn’t allow yourself to be cheated out of that money.”
“What do you propose to do?”
“Put the Indians on him.”
“The Indians?” exclaimed Henderson.
“Certainly,” said Bill coolly. “What do you suppose I have got the Indians for if it isn’t to help me out in a job of this kind? You said you wanted him shut up until he signed his property over to you, and I don’t think you will find a better place.”
“Why, my goodness, they will kill him!” said Henderson, horrified at the idea of making Bob a prisoner in the hands of those wild men.
“I’ll risk it. Just put him among the Indians with the understanding that he is to remain there until he signs his property over to you, and he’ll soon sign, I bet you.”
Henderson was silent for a long time after this. He didn’t see any other way out of it. The idea of his going to Austin and being shot by that man Chisholm was not exactly what it was cracked up to be. He knew that Chisholm would shoot if he got a fair chance, for he had already seen him behind his revolver; and he didn’t care to give him another such a chance at him. Coyote Bill gave him time to think the matter over and then said:
“Suppose the Indians do kill him; what then? It will only be just one stumbling block out of your way. What do you say?”