"Indian, Indian, never die—
Yellow skin and mean eye,
Black——"
He did not finish the stanza. Francisco sprang forward, seized him about the waist, and rolled him down the bank.
"There! Finish your song where no one can hear it but yourself," said the Indian, calmly returning to his companions. Shouts of anger, followed by whimpers of pain, came up from below.
"Oh, Francisco," exclaimed Nellie, "if you haven't hurt him very much, I think I am glad."
"Hurt him!" echoed Walter. "That wouldn't hurt a fly—such an easy setting-down as he got."
"I did not hurt him, and I would not. I was not so angry with him, as that he makes me tired. I do not like to see him where I am. He might have followed us for a long time else."
"But maybe he'll be waiting for us down there to fight," said Nellie.