"To be sure, but where?"
"Oh, to hell and gone out of this."
"That's your tumtum. It ain't mine by a mile. If he's been spoilin' Ned Quin's face what'll he do 'bout George, eh?"
Mac intervened.
"Waal, boys, these Injuns are a rotten crowd. You can't bet on what they'll do. Some o' them don't care a damn if their klootchmen quit. I know, for I've run with 'em on the Eastern Slope o' the Rockies and on the plains. Sometimes they will though."
He told a ghastly tale.
"Pete's a holy terror, that's what," said Tenas Billy. "I never give him credit for sand, I admit, but he has it."
"Sand be damned," said Long Mac; "he hasn't sand. It's only Injun temper. I know 'em. They ain't sandy in the way we speak of it, boys. Bein' sandy is bein' cool. Pete don't do notion' unless he's mad. None of 'em do, at least none of these fish-fed coast Injuns. They's a measly crowd."
The men chewed on that.
"Nevertheless," said Shorty, considering the matter fully, "I'd rather be me than George Quin with Pete loose on the tear. The man that spiked our boom and hunted old Cultus Muckamuck's steers into a dry cañon and then hammered him to pulp with a club mayn't have sand, but he's dangerous."