“Good Heavens, man! He might have killed you. And he would have in two minutes more.”
“He might have killed—some of you,” said Smith.
Cameron laughed again.
“Now what were you doing in the bluff?” he said sharply, turning to the Indian.
“Chief Trotting Wolf,” said the Indian in the low undertone common to his people, “Chief Trotting Wolf want you' squaw—boy seeck bad—leg beeg beeg. Boy go die. Come.” He turned to Mandy and repeated “Come—queeek—queeek.”
“Why didn't you come earlier?” said Cameron sharply. “It is too late now. We are going to sleep.”
“Me come dis.” He lowered his hand toward the ground. “Too much mans—no like—Indian wait all go 'way—dis man much beeg fight—no good. Come queeek—boy go die.”
Already Mandy had made up her mind.
“Let us hurry, Allan,” she said.
“You can't go to-night,” he replied. “You are dead tired. Wait till morning.”