Cram did not reply at once. He smoothed his ruffled hair with a hand that shook.
“I guess I’m like our Indians. Some grudges I never forget.”
“Be a good Indian then, Cram, and don’t tomahawk anybody until you know just what’s what.”
Cram sneered, and with a glare over David’s shoulder walked hastily away. David turned to see the cause of the venomous look. It was Red Ryan, whistling lustily.
“Red, they kicked him out,” said David.
“Not Cram!”
“Yep, and gosh, he is sore! Wants to kill someone. Wants to be a bad Indian, in fact.”
“Cram kicked out—”
“Not really kicked,” said David. He repeated Cram’s report.
“He’ll consider he’s been dynamited. Well, with my brother a priest, I’d do better not to rejoice as I could. But if he’s gone, he’s gone, and we’ve new jobs, and tough ones ahead of us.”