“Sit over there,” the lead Indian commanded. He walked over to a blanket roll and rummaged through it. The other Indians stood to one side, keeping their guns trained on Sandy and Mike.
“What’s all this about?” Sandy said irritably. “What do you want from us?”
“Nothing,” the Indian replied. “Not a single thing. It’s Eagle Plume we want—Joe, to you.”
“Then you must be the three Crows!” Mike blurted out.
The Indian straightened up from his pack and looked at them. There was a flat, veiled expression in his eyes. “Yes,” he said quietly, “we’re Crows. So Joe’s been telling you about us.”
Sandy glanced over at Mike to warn him into silence. “He mentioned you once,” he replied. “Said there was some bad feeling between you.”
“What else did he say?” It was more of a command than a question.
“Nothing. Joe didn’t talk much.”
The Indian nodded. “I can believe that. He wouldn’t want you to know too much.”
“About what?”