“Maracota has sworn to avenge Oluski’s death. Warren Rody must die!”
“Wal, let him die. I shan’t stop you from riddin’ the world of such as he. What made you follow my trail?”
“It was no trail I followed. I have been seeking one from the north; yours came from the east.”
“Right you air; that’s whar I hail from last.”
“Have you seen anything of him, or Sansuta?”
“Hark hyar, Injun. Altho’ I might draw blood in the scoundrel if I saw him, I ain’t a man-hunter, and that’s why I haint been a follerin’ any trail of his’n.”
Maracota’s eager look gave place to one of despondency, as he muttered,—
“Not found yet! Where can they be?”
“Ah, whar? It ain’t Warren as has hid whar he can’t be found. Some knowin’ hand has put him up to it.”
“Yes, Maracota thinks so. It must be the negro Crookleg.”