Jesse had drawn from the big chief the very information he was seeking. He knew now that the savage was alone. "When an Indian tells you a thing is so, you know it isn't," was Jesse's motto and it was the one he applied to the present case.
Still, he dared not use his guns.
Great Bear, perhaps, following the same process of reasoning, stood confidently awaiting the moment when the desperado should find it convenient to move.
"Pale face no jump. Um fall down big hole like pinto," he warned.
"Don't worry, my sweet papoose," jeered the outlaw. "Jesse James don't jump down holes, nor does he run away. But he's going to kill an Indian bye and bye, when he gets down. But paleface going to stay up here till Big chief gets sore feet waiting for him. Good night, you old dog-eater."
The great desperado laughed and chuckled, all with a purpose, but not so loudly at any time that his voice could easily be heard beyond the circle of shadow thrown by the great tree.
"Ugh. Pale face, dog—" retorted the savage.
But he got no further.
Like a flying projectile, a dark object was hurled from the tree. Straight did it speed at the copper-hued savage below, and as true as if it had been from a mountain battery.