“Hold, chiefs! I sought you here, and this girl was kind enough to call you to me.”
“Who are you?” cried the old hermit in English, his eyes glaring savagely upon the young man.
The latter answered bitterly:
“I am an outlaw; one branded with a curse; men call me Kansas King.”
“You are the outlaw chief, then? What brings you here into these hills?”
“Mutual interest to you and me.”
“I do not understand you,” the old man protested.
“I will explain; I am an outlaw, and you are perhaps worse, for you dare not show your face among your fellow men.”
“By the Heaven above, but you are bold to thus address me!” cried Gray Chief furiously.
“My worst foes never called me a coward,” said the young man. “But I came here not to parley about courage or character, but to discuss a more important matter. You are accursed for some crime, or you would never hide in these hills like a hunted wolf. I am an outlaw, a price is upon my head, and, figuratively speaking, a noose is around my neck.”