“Just the same thing me told ’em,” put in Teddy Banes. “For sure he gone.”
Tom bristled up; his color heightened.
“And you could say it a hundred times more, and still I wouldn’t believe such a thing,” he stormed.
“Oh, go on!” said the trooper, with an impatient shrug of his shoulders. He was plainly not prepossessed in Tom’s favor. “What do you know about it, I’d like to ask?”
“And what do you know about it?” retorted Tom.
Billy Ashe’s sun-browned face took on a peculiar expression. He felt that the uniform he wore should entitle him to a great deal more deference than was shown by the six-foot lad’s manner.
A loud argument, which the others vainly tried to stop, ensued; and during this several cowpunchers were observed to come up and mingle with the Indians. Tom’s eyes flashed as he told in a most emphatic manner of their hope to aid the missing trooper.
A word from Thunderbolt at last attracted sufficient attention to change the trend of the conversation.
“You come with me,” invited the young Indian again. “You see my grandfather—much great chief.”
Turning to the surrounding Indians he addressed them in a sharp, incisive fashion. Then the groups began to slowly scatter.