“Then we drop our pistols,” and the Modoc returned his weapon to his belt.
“Your hand, Mouseh,” said Rafe Todd, stepping forward. “If we were never friends, let us be such now.”
But Captain Jack, drawing himself to his full hight, shrunk from the proffered hand.
“Did Mouseh ever take that hand?” he asked.
“No,” said the deserter, abashed.
“’Tis well; he said he would never touch it. He never will.”
The painted white bit his nether lip till it bled, and with the fire of anger consuming his heart, wheeled suddenly upon Evan Harris.
“Now you know who Baltimore Bob is!” he cried. “Presently you shall see what he can do.”
“Presently?” echoed the young ranger. “I would see now.”
“Curse you, you shall!”