"Our little pussey has sharp claws," interjected Homely Harry.
Frank had been taken into the next chamber, an apartment somewhat smaller than the one they were in, and there they carried the Indian medicine man after having instructed him as to what was expected of him.
They planked him down beside the wounded man.
Frank's right hand slipped down to his trusty "Colt."
But the Indian made no move.
Tony's face grew stony.
"You red devil," he cried, "don't get stubborn. Do as we demand and no harm will come to you, but if you don't fix this man up inside of ten minutes—by the watch, remember—you're a dead Indian. Get busy!"
The Indian bent a keen glance on Tony, then looked sharply from one to the other of the assemblage as if to satisfy himself that he was not being tricked.
But there was no trickery lurking at the corners of the stern mouths of the desperate men.
"Kill um pale face," urged Dew Drop with a vicious snap of the jaws.