Wolf-Cap said nothing.
The place where they stood was thickly studded with young trees and tall grass, the latter much soiled by human feet. A fire some distance down the river threw a weird light over the scene; but toward the fort, in its river front, the depth of darkness prevailed.
The Indian guards gazed at the outlaw with an immobility of countenance, and when he stepped toward the trapper with uplifted knife, they did not interpose a hand. They had lately taken their stations as Wolf Cap’s guards, and had watched the helpless man with vigilant eyes.
“I say I’ve a mind to try you, Wolf-Cap,” reiterated the outlaw.
“No, it won’t do, Sam,” suddenly cried another, springing forward and laying his brawny hand on Cole’s shoulder. “He’ll escape if you cut his cords. What do a squatter’s words amount to? Let him be!”
For a moment Cole glared fiercely upon the speaker, and then sullenly dropped the knife again.
“I’ve heard that Card Belt is a man of his word,” he said. “And I want to try ’im.”
With the last word the outlaw shook the hand from his shoulder, and stepped toward the trapper again.
“Don’t do it, Sam.”
“I will!”