“But you hate me for something else, Mouseh. I know it. You have let your hate crop out more times than one in the last five years.”
Slowly the Modoc chief unbuttoned the stolen coat that covered his brawny breast, and drew from the inner pocket a dirty, dingy paper.
He stepped nearer the white Modoc as he unfolded the sheet, and at last held the document before his eyes.
The printing on the sheet read thus:
“FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD.
“Head-quarters; Fort Crook, Lassen Co., Cal.,
“May 21st, 1868.
“By command of the General commanding this military district, I offer five hundred dollars reward for the living body of Rafer Todd, fourth corporal Company K, —th regiment U. S. Cavalry, who, after basely shooting Sergeant Grosvenor, deserted the service during the night of the 3d inst. He is suspected of having joined the troublesome Modocs, near Klamath Lake. One-half of the above reward will be paid for his dead body.”
The hand-bill bore the signature of the officer in command at Fort Crook, and, on the whole, was a document sufficient to pale the cheeks of the murderer and deserter.
“I hate you because you treacherously slew your brother blue-coat, and ran away from the flag of your country,” said Captain Jack, when he was satisfied that Rafe Todd had mastered the “reward.” “You owe Mouseh your life. You did me a service when you came from the big fork—a service which I never forgot, and when a scout put this paper in my hands and begged that I would tell my braves of your crime, I hid it in my bosom and kept my mouth shut. Ah, if they had known that gold could be had for your scalp, you would not be standing here to-day. During this war, you have done much for me—I acknowledge it, while I hate you from the bottom of my heart. Here your life is safe. My chiefs shall not touch you. Do you want to fight Mouseh now?”
The question, so abruptly put, startled the deserter.
“No,” he said. “I would live to repay you for saving me.”