“Ahdeek’s ghost!” he gasped.
The climber, reassured, approached again.
“Ahdeek no ghost,” he said. “He stop by foot of tree to rest, and heard trader groan. Then he climb up to see who in tree-top.”
“’Tis old Doc Cromer, boy,” was the feeble reply. “He’s on his last trail. They’ve took the scalp that was gettin’ white with honorable hairs, an’ it’s too much for him.”
“No, no, Ahdeek save trader; cut him loose an’ take him down.”
“I tell ye it’s too late, boy. I’m goin’ to peg out right in this tree. What’s my right ear? Them infernal dogs chawed it up. What tore my arms? Them sneakin’ Injun wolf hounds. But I finished ’bout ten ov ’em afore the Injuns took me off. Now, Ahdeek, look hyar.”
The half-breed bent nearer, but reluctantly, as though he knew what was coming.
“Ahdeek, thar’s a ring on my hand.”
The Tiger sprung at the member, and uttered a cry of delight when he discovered the bauble.
“No, don’t take it off, chief. Listen to me. I swore that that hand should give the gal her ring, an’ by hoky! it must do it. So you’ll cut my hand off, won’t you, boy, and give it her thus?”