“No, I don’t see him.”
They beheld the “finish” of Gorilla Jake, to the great grief of Bill Betts. The Indians had killed the apelike man without mercy, simply because he could not furnish them more whisky.
A little after that the two crouching behind the umbrella beheld the scalp of the unfortunate man elevated on a lance before the lodge, with the drunken Indians dancing and howling round it.
“Gives me the creeps!” commented Bill Betts. “I’m beginnin’ to think that Jim didn’t come hyer.”
“Budt Cody dit!” whispered the German.
“Yit he may have got out before this happened.”
“Yaw, I am hobing so.”
Bill Betts’ keen eyes beheld sneaking forms near the outer lodges. He stared at them. What had seemed but one man became suddenly two, when the blanket round them dropped down.
“White men!” he gasped. “I’m betting one of ’em is Jim Betts. He’s that reckless he’s allus runnin’ inter danger.”
“Unt der odder iss maype Cody, who is yoost as reckless. Now, you unt me——”