"Buen," says he, and Colin and me withdrew.
"Now, my Scotch friend," says I, when we got out of hearin', "we are up against it, bang! It's all right for them Injuns to talk of how peaceful they are, but I'll bet you there ain't a bigot among 'em. If we don't slide down their gutter, they'll do us harm. How're we to decide who puts his neck in the lion's mouth?"
But old Colin wasn't listening to me. "They'll make me chief," says he. "I'm tired of herding sheep." His little grey eyes was shining.
"Well, you knock me every time," says I. "Do you mean you want to trot with them?"
"They stick together—they have a clan."
I got some excited. "Here, now," I says; "this lets me out of a good deal of trouble to have you take it this way, but all the same as I've drunk your whiskey and ate your bread, I'll stand at your back till your belt caves in. You pass this idea up—it's dangerous—and I'll make you a foolish proposition; you take the bagpipes and I'll take the sword and we will pass away to lively music. Darn my skin if I'll see a friend turned over to those tarriers and sit still."
"Heugh!" says he. "What's a man but a man? As safe with them as anywhere—and what do I care about safe? What's left me, anyhow? Will you watch the sheep till they send from the ranch?"
"Why, yes," says I. "But——"
He waved his hand and walked towards the Injuns. "Voy," says he.
"Hungh!" says they. "Bueno."