Then, placing his hand on the red man’s shoulder, he cried, “Stand back, all of you! You ought to be ashamed of yourselves—pitching into a poor old redskin! What are you thinking of? Would you kill an unarmed man?”
“He’s a spy! He’s a spy!” shouted the soldiers.
“If he’s a spy,” answered Lincoln, “we will prove it, and he shall suffer the penalty. Until then, any man who harms him will have to answer to me.”
The poor old Indian crouched at Lincoln’s feet, recognizing in him his only friend.
“What are you afraid of?” demanded one of the ringleaders, raising his rifle. “We’re not afraid to shoot him, even if you are a coward!”
The tall young captain faced his accuser and slowly began to roll up his sleeves.
“Who says I’m a coward?” he demanded.
There was no response to this.
Every man in the company knew the great strength of that brawny arm; some had felt it on more than one occasion.
“Get out, Capt’n,” they said; “that’s not fair! You’re bigger and stronger than we are. Give us a show!”