“But I want the horse. Tecumseh is worth more to me than all the girls in America.”
“What will you do with me? Shackelford, I have saved your life.”
“And you would have saved it night before last if your devils had caught me, too,” was the sarcastic rejoinder. “But to business; get off that horse.”
Shackelford’s voice was as stern as a winter storm, and the renegade saw his head drop once more to the rifle-stock.
“I mean business, Tom Kyle. We can’t wait here. If you will be stubborn—”
The fugitive from Indian vengeance interrupted the hunter by springing to the ground.
Frontier Shack now rode slowly forward, the remaining horsemen following his example.
“I pulled wool over the Pawnees’ eyes this time, Tom,” he said, familiarly, and with a broad smile. “The water tells me that I make a handsome Indian. You see I can play the Crow pretty decently, for I’ve trapped with the varmints but I never caught enough of their lingo to gabble it off to advantage. Wonder what them Pawnees ’ud say if they could hear Sleeping Bear talking like any other folks?”
He paused, and Tom Kyle saw fit to put a question.
“How did you know I was escaping?”