“‘What’s this about, Landley?’ McLeod said, sternly. ‘What trouble have you got yourself into now?’
“I knew Landley for a white man who had abandoned himself to a shiftless, vicious life with the Indians. He had sunk lower, even, than they. He was an evil, worthless, ragged fellow, despised within the fort and respected nowhere. But while he stood there, gasping and terror-stricken, I pitied him; and it may be McLeod himself was stirred by the mere kinship of colour.
“‘Speak up, man!’ he commanded. ‘What have you done?’
“‘I’ve done no wrong,’ Landley whimpered. ‘Buffalo Horn’s young son has died, and they put the blame on me. They say I’ve cast the 118 evil eye on him. They say I killed him with a spell. You know me, McLeod. You know I haven’t got the evil eye. Don’t turn me out, man. They’re coming to kill me. Don’t give me up. You know I’m not blood-guilty. You know me. You know I haven’t got the evil eye.’
“‘Tush, man!’ said McLeod. ‘Is that all the trouble?’
“‘That’s all!’ Landley cried. ‘I’ve done no harm. Don’t give me up to them.’
“‘I won’t,’ McLeod said, positively. ‘You’re safe here until they prove you blood-guilty. I’ll not give you up.’”
Old David Grey paused; and Jimmie demanded:
“Did they give un up?”
“Was they wild Indians?” Bagg gasped.