Hector pushed back the door of the lodge still further. The cold light, streaming in, clearly revealed his uniform.
"I have come for Wild Horse," he answered.
The wanted Indian glared shiftily at the speaker over the edge of his blanket.
"You hear me, Wild Horse?" Hector queried. "I say I have come for you. You know what that means. I am waiting."
"I will not come," answered Wild Horse.
"What do you mean?" said Hector sternly.
The Indians had learned to dread that tone. They stirred uneasily.
"I will not come!" repeated Wild Horse.
The others broke into a loud murmur of applause. Some of the bolder threw off their blankets and reached for their rifles. Hector caught the sound of angry voices at his back. A hostile crowd was gathering outside. The Gopher had failed, either through weakness or treachery, to maintain control. Hector remembered that they were only four white men among at least a hundred Indians. The least misstep, lack of tact or wavering in courage, might have fatal consequences.
He fixed the murderer with penetrating eyes.