"That I am for certain," growled the great bandit chieftain, under his breath.
"Jesse James um in a fix."
"Great Bear, as I'm alive," whispered Jesse, slipping down the tree trunk a few feet.
"Pale face um fool sojers. Um no fool Great Bear. Great Bear um see many things. Um see sojers shoot Jess Jame. Great Bear know um not shoot Jess Jame. Jess Jame he play possum. Ugh. Great Bear um wait. Um want pale face for umself. Huh."
"Well, you've got another guess coming," retorted the outlaw.
Jesse began parleying to gain time. He first wanted to know if the chief was alone, which fact was all-important to him in his present predicament.
"Great Bear go away," he called down gently. "Great Spirit up here in tree," he crooned with subtle cunning.
"No, no!" protested the chief, "Great Spirit not for pale face. Great Spirit stay Indian."
The great desperado fingered his guns nervously. It required all the self control he could impose upon himself to refrain from shooting the redskin, where he stood in plain view of the man up the tree. It was a terrible temptation, but the bandit-chieftain resented it manfully.