“Hullo! Where now?” called Cap Hanks to the leader.
“Maybe so over there,” returned the chief, lifting his head and looking upward across the eastern mountains.
“Maybe so catchum elk, huh?” Hanks suggested in a significant tone of voice.
The chief scowled, but said nothing.
“Maybe so game man catchum Injun,” Dick put in smartly.
“Huh!” snapped the chief angrily; “maybe so white man put elk here, huh?”
“Oh, hold on, Chief, don’t get mad,” said Cap Hanks. “White man no stingy; let Injun kill all he needs to eat, but no heap kill ’em for buckskin.”
Old Copperhead’s eyes flashed. “What white man kill ’em for? Not meat, not buckskin. Heap fun. White man let Injun be, Injun let white man be. You savey?” With an angry jerk of the rein, he whirled his pony and started off when Dick, full of mischief, broke out again by jerking a flask from his pocket and saying, “Here, big Injun, maybe this cool ’em down; you likem whisky, huh?”
“You smart fool!” Dan rebuked him, “put that stuff up. They’re chuck full of the devil all ready. Hell only knows what they’d do if they got whisky down their black throats.”
Dick took the cut without a word, and put the bottle back, but not before the Indian had caught sight of it.