“Ugh!” she muttered, “me no like um Yellow Hair.”
“If you want to be friends with Pa-e-has-ka, Wah-coo-tah,” proceeded the scout earnestly, “you must also be friends with Yellow Hair.”
“No!” Wah-coo-tah screamed in sudden frenzy; “mebbyso, bymby, me kill um Yellow Hair.”
“That’s the Indian of it,” muttered the scout. “When you’re dealing with a redskin you never can tell which way the cat is going to jump.”
Looking Wah-coo-tah in the eyes, he addressed her directly.
“If you wanted to warn me,” said he, “why didn’t you come out, face to face?”
“Lawless watch Sun Dance Camp,” answered Wah-coo-tah. “Mebbyso he see Wah-coo-tah make talk with Pa-e-has-ka, he kill Wah-coo-tah.”
“Ah! so that’s the way of it? You came to the Alcazar when we were talking with the gambler?”
“All same under floor; try make Pa-e-has-ka stay ’way from mine. Pa-e-has-ka no stay. Me get into Alcazar by window in cellar; get out same way.”
“Can you write, Wah-coo-tah?”