He longed to go forward and settle this mental conundrum, but the eyes of Squatting Bear admonished him to stand still.
More than once during that eventful day their not too friendly glances had met.
If Midnight Jack had doubted his discovery by the gin-trader, he no longer doubted.
“Thar's some shenanagan about that fellar's holdin' out,” ejaculated Tanglefoot in a tone that roused Gopher Gid. “He's not hangin' fair. Did you ever take pertic'lar notice of him, boy?”
“Me? No!”
“Go an' look right into his face,” was the unexpected reply. “Not an Indian'll tech you, fur ye're under Squattin' B'ar's pertection. Thar I've cut the foot-cords. Go an' look at the skunk!”
Gopher Gid felt a thrill of joy shoot through his heart as the cords about his feet were severed, and he lightly sprung to the ground.
“White Fish is goin' to look at the braves,” cried Tanglefoot, and a voice of approval replied from the chief's lips.
Gopher Gid did not hesitate, but crossed the space, and halted beside the Red Jingo, whose body, thrown back, was trying the strength of the buffalo-cords.
All at once the eyes opened, the lips unclosed, and these low words fell upon Gopher's ears;—