"'Cause Lite, here,
shore woulda tuk an ear off'n him in another minnute, now I'm tellin' ye!"
CHAPTER XIX. PEACE TALK
Across the Frying-pan an Indian stood boldly out upon a jutting point of rock
and raised a hand in the sweeping upward motion of the peace-sign. The
questing bullets that came seeking for bone and flesh among the rocks and
bushes came no more when the signal was passed from those who saw to those
farther back who could not see the figure silhouetted against the brilliant
blue of the sky. A moment he stood, made the sign again, and waited.
"That's peace-sign, sure as you're born!" Luck cried breathlessly, and went
scrambling through the bushes to where he might stand in the open, on the very
rim of the basin. Applehead yelled to him to come back and not make a dang
fool of himself, but luck gave no heed to the warning. He stood out in the
blazing sunshine and gave the peace-sign in reply.
On the-rim rock the Indian stood motionless while he might have taken three or
four breaths. Then with his hand he gave the sign for "pow-wow" and waited
again.
Luck, his pulse thrilling at the once familiar gesture which his tribal
"father," old chief Big Turkey, used to give when he came stalking up for his
daily confab with his adopted son, gave back the sign with a hand that
trembled noticeably.
Pages:
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247