Whereupon the Indian on the farther rim turned and began
dignifiedly to climb through a rift in the ledge down into the Frying-pan.
"He wants a pow-wow," Luck called back to the bunch. "You fellows stay where
you're at I'm going out there in the middle and talk to him."
"Now, Luck, don't let 'em make a dang monkey outa ye," Applehead protested
anxiously. "Injuns is tricky--"
"That's all right. You can keep a couple of rifles sighted on that old
chief--that's what he is, I take it, from his actions and his talking 'sign'
and then if they pot me, you can pot him. But they won't. I know Injuns better
than you do, Applehead. He just wants to talk things over--and I'm certainly
willing that he should!"
"Well, Lite, you keep your sights lined up on that Injun, then. 'N' if they's
a crooked move made towards Luck, you cut loose--'n' say! You shoot to kill,
this time!" He shook his finger in Lite's face admonishingly. "'S all right t'
nip "em here 'n' take a hunk out there jest t' kinda take their minds off'n
us---'s all right enough so fur, 'n' I ain't kickin' none 'cause yuh ain't
killed off yuh hit. But if this here's a trick t' git Luck, you KILL that
Injun.
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