"Hold up, you chump!" exclaimed Billy. "If you rush in on a cry that way you are apt not to come back again. You've got to go at 'em careful. Let me do the talking."
They rode toward the sound of the chant and shortly a dingy campos came into view. An Indian buck made his way from the doorway toward them.
"Who is sick, friend?" asked Billy.
"Old buck," said the Indian.
"Apache?" said Billy.
The Indian nodded.
"You sabe Apache named Kut-le?"
The buck shook his head, but Billy went on patiently.
"Yes, you sabe him. He old Ke-say's son. Apache chief's son. He run off with white squaw. We want squaw, we no hurt him. Squaw sick, no good for Injun. You tell, have money." Billy displayed a silver dollar.
The Indian brightened.