“And when famine threatens,” Bradford pursued, “they kill and eat their dogs.”
“I’m aware of the fact.”
“Do you catch my meaning?”
“I do.”
Neither again spoke for some moments. Ross noted that some of the Indians that passed were munching parched corn and nibbling pieces of dried-beef. Others had no food at all, apparently. They looked gaunt and haggard, but stoically plodded onward, without a murmur.
“Well, what do you think about it?” Bradford asked suddenly.
“About what?” was the quiet rejoinder.
“You know what I mean. Shall I shoot the dog?”
“Of course not,” Ross answered unmoved.
“You can step aside and——”