Issy came out of his trance with a start.
“What—what's that?” he asked. His passenger was grinning broadly.
“What? Kill who?”
“Why, the big chief, or whoever you had under your knee just then. You've been rolling your eyes and punching air with your fist for the last five minutes. I was getting scared. You're an unmerciful sinner when you get started, ain't you, Is? Who was the victim that time? 'Man Afraid of Hot Water'? or who?”
The skipper scowled. He shoved the fist into his pocket.
“Naw,” he growled. “'Twa'n't.”
“So? Not an Indian? Then it must have been a white man. Some fellow after your girl, perhaps. Hey?”
The disconcerted Issy was speechless. His companion's chance shot had scored a bull's-eye. Sam whooped.
“That's it!” he crowed. “Sure thing! Give it to him, Is! Don't spare him.”
Mr. McKay chokingly admitted that he “wa'n't goin' to.”