"You look it," said he with sarcasm; and being nicely stained brown all over by way of costume, I could only smile.
The rookie had misgivings. This episode would be grand in Saturday's letter to mother, but what would they say in barracks about pulling a revolver on an unarmed man. He smirked, so I told him to put his gun away and not try to be funny. He obeyed.
"Consider yourself under arrest," he growled, for that was the way the non-coms. always addressed him. "Now," he stood up, "what d'ye mean by killing the cow and my scout-interpreter?"
"If you—" I suggested blandly.
"If you—what?"
"If you please, pig," said I.
"Well, I'll be dog-goned! Say," he asked, almost respectfully, "have you seen a young fellow along here by the name of Pedro la Mancha?"
"You dreamed him."
"Ax that girl."
So I asked Rain in my best Blackfoot, but she did not understand it very well. Then it occurred to Constable Buckie that I might be Pedro in disguise.