Bill held up both hands, with the fingers spread, twice, and then one hand.
"Ugh! How hurt arm?"
"Fight with Apaches."
"Ugh! Good. Where gone? All pale-face braves?"
"Hunt Apaches. Out there."
"Ugh? Hope find 'em. Kill half. Lipans kill rest. Kill pale-face too. Put down gun. Prisoner this time. Shut mouth."
Bill had never in his life seen an uglier expression on the face of a man than was worn by that of the Lipan chief at that moment.
There was no use in resistance. Silently the three miners permitted themselves to be deprived of all their weapons; but the "stripping" stopped there. A brave who reached out his hand for the battered hat on the head of Bill was checked by To-la-go-to-de.
"Ugh! No want him. Let pale-face wear him. Take off scalp too, by-and-by."
There was nothing very cheering in that, but Bill's head did feel a little safer with the hat on.