“Yes, and I’m twice as desperate as the starving wolf. Hold your tongue. If you move it again, I’ll scatter your brains right and left to the winds!”
It was plain that the twain who consulted each other in the smoky bar-room had met before.
There was threatful defiance in Deadly Dan’s eyes; savage pleasure and revenge in the Indian’s.
“Brother didn’t expect to find Red Crest here?”
“Curse you, no! but since we have met—”
“We might make one trail, eh, brother?”
“If that is what you mean, yes!” grated Dan, and the hand that had rested lightly on his hip glided to his revolver.
The quick eye of the Indian detected the movement.
“Not here, brother,” he said, quietly, but with unmistakable eagerness in his tone. “Too many here.”
“As you please,” murmured Dan. “But I thought that the son of the forest might want to die under a roof like decent white people.”