“Wuh!” said Cayuse, with glimmering eyes.
“You like um Pa-e-has-ka?”
“Wuh!”
“You can take those scalps, Cayuse, if you want to,” went on the scout, “but the moment you do, our trails divide. I’ll have no pard about me who will do such heathen work. Take your choice.”
“No take um scalp,” said Cayuse, wheeling silently and striding out of the room.
Nomad laughed.
“Ye might hev knowed how he’d choose, Buffler,” said he. “Why, he thinks more o’ you than he does o’ his own dad.”
“His own dad sold him for a quart of whisky and a gun,” said the scout quietly, “so that isn’t saying much, Nick.”