Onistah looked at him, impassive as only an Indian can be.
"Still sulky, eh? We'll see about that."
The convict knelt on the man's ankles and pushed the coal against the naked sole of the brown foot.
An involuntary deep shudder went through the Blackfoot's body. The foot twitched. An acrid odor of burning flesh filled the room. No sound came from the locked lips.
The tormentor removed the coal. "I ain't begun to play with you yet. I'm gonna give you some real Apache stuff 'fore I'm through. Where's the girl? I'm gonna find out if I have to boil you in grease."
Still Onistah said nothing.
West brought another coal. "We'll try the other foot," he said.
Again the pungent acrid odor rose to the nostrils.
"How about it now?" the convict questioned.
No answer came. This time Onistah had fainted.