They and their horses were hardly twenty feet from Steve and Murray.
Suddenly Murray whispered: "Two young squaws. The foolish things are coming right into the trap."
"Can't we help 'em?"
"They're Apache squaws, Steve."
"I don't care. I'm white."
"So am I. Tell you what, Steve— Ha! I declare!"
"What's the matter, Murray."
"One of 'em's white. Sure's you live. They sha'n't touch a hair of their heads."
The expression of Murray's face astonished Steve. It was ghastly white under all its tan and sunburn, and the wrinkles seemed twice as deep as usual, while the fire in his sunken eyes was fairly blazing.
"There's an Indian coming."