The drug-and-whisky-crazed warriors made a combined rush for it, and in a minute were fighting among themselves for its possession.
The small man whom Shepard thought a chief stood now before him. Close behind the small man came that other painted figure, that had such a marked resemblance to a wild animal.
The little man spoke in English, and Shepard recognized the voice of Tim Benson.
“You know me?” said Benson.
“Yes, I know you now,” Shepard admitted. “It explains things.”
“Glad you see a great light. But you ain’t going to last long.”
“I know it,” said Shepard; “I don’t reckon I can live half an hour. I’m bleeding inside.”
“You were coming to the Ute village to get me?”
“Yes; there’s no use denyin’ it. I’d have done it, but for this treachery.”
“Is it treachery for a man to protect himself?”