“Poor boy! Poor boy,” moaned Walt pityingly. “He’s either out of his head or he never learned how to count.”
“Look here,” cried Joseph, thoroughly aroused. “I know what I’m talking about and I’m telling the truth, and that’s more than you are. I saw you pass me and if ever a man was scared, you were. Your face was as white as chalk and you were running like a scared rabbit. And when you say you killed two Indians, you lie.”
Walt sprang to his feet, his face livid. He struggled to reach Joseph, but was restrained by his companions. For some moments the excitement was intense and it was a puzzle as to how the difficulty would be settled.
“Look here,” exclaimed one of the men. “One of these men is a liar, that’s sure. Which one it is I can’t say, though I’m inclined to think it is this boy here who says he counted only twenty-five Indians. Suppose we make him prove his statement.”
“Can you do it?” whispered Robert in his brother’s ear.
“No, of course not,” said Joseph. “I have nothing but my word.”
“We’ll fight the whole gang, then,” exclaimed Robert.
“I wouldn’t believe that boy on oath now,” cried Walt, still trying to wrench himself free from those who were holding him. “Next thing he’ll be trying to tell us that he captured The Swallow from White Owl and brought him back to camp.”
“That’s just exactly what I did do,” exclaimed Joseph.