"Nary red. You stole whiskey, got drunk, and rolled into your own camp fire," answered Kit. "You kin leave."
The tall hunter raised his rifle again, and the two Indians, mounting their bony steeds, rode off, yelling in the fury of their rage and disappointment. They had intended to obtain something more than their horses. Indeed, the Indians never visited the Castle without begging or demanding something, always whiskey, and often corn and meat.
"There's more on 'em up there somewhere," said Kit, as the thieves rode off.
"Do you think they will return?" asked Mr. Mellowtone.
"I'm afeered they will. Them Injuns is ugly, and I reckon they mean to make trouble. They don't ask for bread and meat; they demand 'em. They spoke for t'others more'n for theirselves. 'Tain't wuth while to quarrel with 'em ef you kin help it. I allus give 'em sunthin' to eat, when they are hungry, ef they ask for't; but I don't let 'em git the upper hands on me. 'Twon't do."
"If you think they mean to attack us, don't you think we had better prepare to defend ourselves?" suggested Mr. Mellowtone.
"I'm allus ready, and I am now," replied Kit.
"So am I," added old Matt, as he examined the lock of his weapon.
"But we might do something to make a better defence," said Mr. Mellowtone. "There are ten or a dozen Indians, you think, while we are but four."
"What kin we do except shoot 'em when they come?" replied old Matt.