"D'ye see that little Injin?" replied he, pointing at the prisoner.
"Yes; and I wondered what you dragged him into the house for."
"Don't you see his fine fixin's—his necklaces and his moccasons? I reckon that boy belongs to the big Injin."
"You mean Lean Bear."
"Yes, if that's his name. He looks enough like him to be his son. Gittin' him 's what made 'em stop short jist whar they was. I tell you we've got 'em whar the har 's short."
"What are you going to do with him?"
"Don't ye see?" replied Ethan, as he finished loading the last of the weapons. "I'm go'n to shoot some of them Injins; and ef they don't keep off I'm go'n to shoot the boy."
"You wouldn't do that, Ethan."
"You bet!" replied he, firmly, using more western slang than was necessary, though he was dependent upon such expressions for the force of his language.
"But it would be wicked to kill the poor boy."