“Where’s the bufflers?”
“At the river.”
“Where’s that devil?”
“Out of sight now,” said George, with a sigh.
Frontier Shack was silent for a moment.
“He’s showed me the Pawnee mode of beating bufflers,” he said, at length, with a smile which, on his bloody face, looked ludicrous in the extreme; “but if I don’t show him Frontier Shack’s mode of beating renegades, then may the wolves howl over my grave when the grass dies ag’in! Are ye ready, boys?”
“Yes.”
“Then we move.”
“To Fort Kearney?” asked George, who saw that the trapper possessed no weapons.
“I don’t see Fort Kearney nor the Stars and Stripes till I wipe out that cussed pale whelp.”