But he was quick
to his feet, and the night might have turned out differently had not
Sipsu struck backward with the long dog-whip and smitten him a blinding
blow across the eyes. Hitchcock, hurrying to overtake her, collided
against him as he swayed with pain in the middle of the trail. Thus it
was, when this primitive theologian got back to the chief's lodge, that
his wisdom had been increased in so far as concerns the efficacy of the
white man's fist. So, when he orated then and there in the council, he
was wroth against all white men.
* * * * *
"Tumble out, you loafers! Tumble out! Grub'll be ready before you get
into your footgear!"
Dave Wertz threw off the bearskin, sat up, and yawned.
Hawes stretched, discovered a lame muscle in his arm, and rubbed it
sleepily. "Wonder where Hitchcock bunked last night?" he queried,
reaching for his moccasins. They were stiff, and he walked gingerly in
his socks to the fire to thaw them out. "It's a blessing he's gone," he
added, "though he was a mighty good worker."
"Yep. Too masterful. That was his trouble. Too bad for Sipsu. Think
he cared for her much?"
"Don't think so.
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