“Rascal!” I cried.
“Dog, speak another word like that, and—”
He did not finish his threat, but checked himself, looking me in the face, which could not have been pleasant to look upon.
I completed his interrupted sentence. “And I’ll knock you down with my fist, you vilest of all liars.”
He sprang back, drew his knife, growling: “You will not get near me again with your fist. If you come one step towards me I’ll stab you.”
“So your Lightning Knife said, and tried to do, but you see he lies there. I will consult my white friends as to what shall be done with the Apaches. But if you harm a hair of their heads, you are lost. Remember, I can blow you all up.”
With these words I went back to Sam, who could not hear the conversation between the chief and me, because of the howling of the Indians. He sprang to meet me, seized both my hands, crying: “Welcome, my dear, dear boy! you have come back out of the jaws of death. Dick, Will, see here; what do you think of this tenderfoot? But foolhardy men are always the luckiest, and the worst root grows the biggest potato. When you went into that circle my heart stood still; I could not breathe, and my thoughts were full of how I’d carry out this tenderfoot’s last will and testament. But a thrust, a stab, and the redskin rolled on the ground. Now we’ve gained our end, and the Apaches are free.”
“You’re mistaken there,” I said.
“Mistaken? How so?”
“The chief made a mental reservation in his promise, which now comes to light.”