I laid my hand on his shoulder for one more try. Every brave picked up his gun and beaded me.
"Drop the guns!" says Colin Hiccup Grunt. And down went the guns. You'd be surprised at his tone of voice; it meant, as plain as you could put it in words, "We will now put down the guns." Oh, yes, it meant it entirely. And he looked a foot taller. The change had done him good.
"Well," thinks I; "my boys, I reckon you've got your chief, and as there ain't another peek of light out of this business, I shelve my kick."
"Where is the señor's horse?" asks Colin.
"In the hills," says the Injun, before he thought.
"Bring it," says Colin.
"Ha!" says all the Injuns, and they sent a man for my mustang. That quick guess surprised the whole lot of us.
We went together to the cabin, to get his belongings and to cache the whiskey. If it come into our friend's heads to rummage we might have a poor evening of it.
"Leave me that sock as a momentum," says I.
"'Tain't finished," says he.