"Keep you prisoner fer awhile; then burn you, maybe. You must ask Sloan Young. You are his game."
John saw the uselessness of further speech, and remained silent. He realized that he was in a truly perilous situation, and though he felt some natural uneasiness for himself, by far the greater share of his anxiety was for the peril that threatened Annie.
If Dusky Dick would act thus toward him, might he not do the same with others? Stevens shuddered convulsively as he realized the peril that threatened the family of his loved one, who were, as he believed, totally unsuspicious of the outbreak.
And then his fears were confirmed by the direction taken by his captors, they heading directly toward the point where the Wilson cabin was located. As if to put the matter entirely beyond doubt, Dusky Dick, after a few instructions to the leading red-skin, fell back to a position just in front of Stevens—the entire party proceeding in Indian file, as the narrow trail would not admit two abreast—and tauntingly uttered:
"As you said you was goin' on to Wilson's, I thought I'd give you a escort, like. Don't you feel highly honored? You hed ought, anyhow," and he chuckled grimly.
"You are not—" faltered John, his blood chilling at the significant tone of the renegade.
"Ain't I? but I am, too. Thought you'd be lonely, a captyve by yourself, so we've concluded to give you comp'ny. But don't count on too much. Annie's fer me. You must be 'tented with the men critters, onless you take the old gal."
John uttered a hoarse growl of anger, and would have sprung upon his tormentor, bound though his hands were, had not the guard behind him divined his intentions and drew him forcibly back. This showed Stevens the folly of allowing his passions to get the better of him, and so he kept silence, while Dusky Dick malignantly resumed:
"Yas, Annie's mine. That's settled, for good. She'll make a nice squaw—don't you think so? Anyhow, I'm goin' to resk it. But t'others—well, they'll prob'ly git jest the same as you will—'ither knocked on the head decently, or else used fer a bonfire, jest to 'mind the reds o' old times, when roasted white men warn't an uncommon dish.
"But you don't talk. Deaf, ain't ye? Or be you thinkin' o' the folks at home? Need it, they do. You said Bob-tailed Horse was there, didn't you? Well, he was sent there; and, what's more, he was sent thar by Sloan Young, and he ain't hurt no more'n you be, not a bit! He was sent thar to open the door at the night time, so 't the reds could walk in quietly. It's nearly time fer the blow, too, as your folks go to bed airly. I wonder how they'll feel by mornin'?" and Dusky Dick laughed ferociously.