'N' Lite, he wouldn't shoot t'
kill--he jes' kep' on nippin' an' nickin', 'n' shootin' a boss now an' then. I
wisht I was the expert shot Lite is--I'd shore a got me a few Navvies back
there, now I'm tellin' yuh!"
"Bud's got a bullet in his arm," Luck said, "but the bone wasn't hit, so he'll
make out, and one of the pack-horses was shot in the ear. We got off mighty
lucky, and I'm certainly glad Lite didn't get careless. Cost me about fifty
dollars to square us as it is. You stay where you are, Applehead, till I get
rid of the Indians. The old fellow acts like he feels he ought to stick along
till we're outa here. He's kind of taken a notion to me because I can talk
sign, and he seems to want to make sure we don't mix it again with the tribe.
Some of them are kinda peeved, all right. You've got no quarrel with this old
fellow, have you? He's a big-league medicine man in the tribe, and his Spanish
name is Mariano Pablo Montoya. Know him?"
"No I don't, 'n' I don't keer to neither," Applehead retorted crossly. "Shoo
'em off, Luck, so's we kin eat. My belly's shore a floppin' agin m' backbone,
'n' I'm tellin' yuh right!"
CHAPTER XX. LUIS ROJAS TALKS
Three days of hiding by day in sequestered little groves or deep, hidden
canons, with only Luis Rojas to bear her company--Luis Rojas whom she did not
trust and therefore watched always from under her long straight lashes, with
oblique glances when she seemed to be gazing straight before her; three nights
of tramping through rough places where often the horses must pause and feel
carefully for space to set their feet.
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