"All right, old moccasin foot, we'll see about that later!"
Great Bear, he realized had been a witness to his brush with the cavalry troops; but with a cunning characteristic of the savage that he was, had viewed it with keener eyes than had the officers of the troop.
"Um Jess Jame come down," grunted the chief.
"Jesse James will come down when he gets good and ready, you greasy old cutthroat," he jeered. "Great Bear had better look out or my men will shoot him in the back. Do you think I'd let you stand there making threats at me all this time without killing you, if I hadn't known my men had you covered. You are not half so smart as you think you are, eh?"
The old chief did not change his position in the least.
But meanwhile Jesse was cautiously making his way down the trunk of the tree, yet in doing so not so much as displacing the smallest particle of dry bark whose falling would warn the savage of his approach.
"Ugh," grunted the chief.
"Ugh it yourself," threw back the desperado.
"Um lie. Great Bear um know Jess Jame. No paleface get Great Bear. Paleface all gone. Indians here—Great Spirit here. Indian in bush—many Indian in bush there," indicating a half circle by a sweep of his hand.
"Ah," exclaimed the desperado.