"Let me see."
Johnson bent over the edge of the rock, and for some time remained silent. At last he said:
"'Tis Red-wing, as he is called by the people hereabouts; one of the Osage tribe, I believe. But you will find little good in him, although he might be made serviceable, if you could keep whiskey from him."
"Red-wing," shouted Price.
"Ugh!"
"You red devil, get up and show your colors, or I will send a bullet through your head!" exclaimed Johnson.
There was no reply. Johnson raised his rifle, but the Indian had risen, and fixing a glance of hatred upon Johnson, he said:
"Give Indian whiskey—me fight for you—me kill for you—give Indian whiskey."
Price leaped from the rock, and motioned them to follow. In a few moments he reached camp, closely followed by Johnson and the Indian.
The appearance of the rebel camp was somewhat singular.