“Thanks, Sam; I’ll try to deserve the honor. But now look here: you mean that we should send white spies after the Apaches; is that it?”
“Not spies; only one.”
“Is that enough?”
“Yes, if that one’s a fellow to be trusted, called Sam Hawkins. Do you know the man?”
“I know if he undertakes a thing we need feel no more anxiety. He won’t let the Apaches catch him.”
“No, not catch him, but see him. I mean to let them see me wandering around, so they’ll think we feel as safe as in Abraham’s bosom. They won’t touch me, because if I didn’t come back your suspicions would be aroused.”
“Suppose they see you and you don’t see them?” I hinted.
“I seen and not see!” he exclaimed in pretended wrath. “If you give me such a box on the ear as that it’s all over between us. Sam Hawkins’s eyes may be little, but they’re sharp. As soon as I have seen them I’ll slip back to you, that you may be warned when their spies are coming, and act perfectly at ease.”
“But they’ll see the Kiowas if they send spies here,” I objected.
“Who will they see? Kiowas? Man, tenderfoot, most respected youngster, do you think Sam Hawkins’s brains are made of cotton-wool or tissue-paper? Our dear friends the Kiowas will be safely hidden, so there won’t be the smallest trace of them; see? Then when the Apache scouts have gone back to the braves, I’ll crawl after them and see when the whole body moves. They’ll come by night, and we’ll burn our camp-fire so we can be plainly seen. As long as it lasts the Apaches will certainly stay hidden. We will let it burn out, and as soon as it is dark steal over to the Kiowas. Then the Apaches will come—and find no one! Of course they’ll be astonished, and light up the fire again to look for us, when we shall see them as plainly as we were seen before, and we’ll reverse the game and fall on them. Isn’t that a stroke? It will be talked of long, and every one will say: ‘Sam Hawkins planned that little business.’”