When he realized the situation, Bully West exploded in language sulphurous. He announced his determination to turn the wounded man over to the Crees as soon as they arrived. "No," said Morse quietly. "No what?" "I won't stand for that. They'd murder him." "That any o' my business--or yours?" "I'm makin' it mine." The eyes of the two men crossed, as rapiers do, feeling out the strength back of them. The wounded Indian, tall and slender, stood straight as an arrow, his gaze now on one, now on the other. His face was immobile and expressionless. It betrayed no sign of the emotions within. "Show yore cards, Morse," said West. "What's yore play? I'm goin' to tell the Crees to take him if they want him. You'll go it alone if you go to foggin' with a six-shooter." The young man turned to the Indian he had rescued. He waved a hand toward the horse from which they had just dismounted. "Up!" he ordered. The Indian youth caught the point instantly. Without using the stirrups he vaulted to the saddle, light as a mountain lion. His bare heels dug into the sides of the animal, which was off as though shot out of a gun. Horse and rider skirted the cottonwoods and disappeared in a depression beyond. CHAPTER VI "SOMETHING ABOUT THESE GUYS" West glared at Morse, his heavy chin outthrust, his bowed legs wide apart. "You've done run on the rope long enough with me, young feller. Here's where you take a fall hard." The younger man said nothing. He watched, warily. Was it to be a gun-play? Or did the big bully mean to manhandle him? Probably the latter. West was vain of his reputation as a two-fisted fighter. "I'm gonna beat you up, then turn you over to the Crees," the infuriated man announced. "You can't do that, West. He's a white man same as you," protested Stearns. "This yore put-in, Brad?" West, beside himself with rage, swung on the little man and straddled forward a step or two threateningly. "You done said it," answered the old-timer, falling back. "An' don't you come closter. I'm liable to get scared, an' you'd ought not to forget I'm as big as you behind a six-shooter." "Here they come--like a swarm o' bees!" yelled Barney. The traders forgot, for the moment, their quarrel in the need of common action. West snatched up a rifle and dropped a bullet in front of the nearest Indian. The warning brought the Crees up short. They held a long consultation and one of them came forward making the peace sign. In pigeon English he expressed their demands. "He's gone--lit right out--stole one of our broncs. You can search the camp if you've a mind to," West replied. The envoy reported. There was another long pow-wow. Brad, chewing tobacco complacently behind a wagon wheel, commented aloud. "Can't make up their minds whether to come on an' massacree us or not. They got a right healthy fear of our guns. Don't blame 'em a bit."