“We won’t argue it—I ain’t got time! But the white man who will furnish whisky to Indians had ought to be tortured as well as hung.”
“Where is Cody?”
“I don’t know.”
“He ain’t right out there?”
“Perhaps so; I can’t say as to that.”
“Well, I’d like to send you to him with a message, saying that the thing that has happened to your crowd is going to happen to his. I’ll admit that when we jumped down the hill here we thought—I did—that it was his crowd; and if I hadn’t been mistaken in it he would be where you are now. I’d like to send that word to him.”
Shepard did not answer. He still looked courageously at the man who was disguised as an Indian, but a grayish pallor was stealing over his face.
The Indians had squabbled for the whisky, had swallowed it, and now came rushing back. They were howling for the blood of the white man.
“Take him!” said the outlaw.