"Those are the redskins who stole our horses," said I to Kit Cruncher.
"Jest so," replied Kit, as the savages halted before us.
They were very much excited, and looked decidedly ugly. Their eyes were bloodshot after the debauch of the preceding night, and their eyeballs seemed to be marked by the fiery nature of the liquor they had drank.
"Ugh!" growled one of them, shaking his head.
"Well, old Blower, what do you want?" demanded Kit, straightening up his tall, gaunt form.
"Want um hosses," snarled the Indian, shaking his head violently, as though he was so ugly he could not contain himself.
"D'ye want to steal some hosses?" added Kit, sternly.
"Ugh! White man steal hosses! Lose um two hosses," howled the spokesman, pointing to the barn.
We understood what he meant. He evidently thought it quite right for him to steal our horses, but very wicked for us to reciprocate in the same manner.
"Well, they sarved you jest as you sarved them. You stole Matt's bosses, his folks stole yours. That's fair play," added Kit.