"h.e.l.lo, white mans! h.e.l.lo!"

The Indian spoke broken English in a way that no combination of letters could give a correct idea of, so for our own convenience, as well as for the reader's clearer understanding, we shall report what he said in the ordinary way, though Indians never use the elegant language some writers put into their mouths.

"What do you want?" was Sam's response to the Indian's outcry.

"Who you are?" asked the Indian.

"My name is Sam Willett."

"Where you come from?"

"From the canon."

"Oh, no; that's a Ute lie."

"I did not ask you to believe me, nor do I care to talk to you. Go off about your business, if you have any," said Sam, his confidence increasing every moment that he spoke.

"You got dog?"

"Yes."

"Big dog?"

"A very big dog."

"Him bite?"

"Yes, if you come nearer."

"That dog fat?"

At this question the Indians laughed and jumped about, as if they thought their chief had uttered a very fine joke, for to the Apache a fat dog is the daintiest dish in all the world.

Sam treated the inquiry about Maj's condition with haughty silence, while all the time the animal under consideration was growling and straining to break away from Ike, as if eager to exhibit his condition and his teeth.

"You all white men?" was Blanco's next question.

"No-not all," shouted Sam.

"Who you three be?"

"I shan't tell you."

"Why you no tell?"

"Because it is none of your business."

"Dat am de gospil truff," said Ike, "an' if he don't light out purty soon dar'll be a loose dog a-howlin' 'round, for I can't hold onter Maj much longer."

"My name Blanco. Me big Apache chief."

"Well, what do you want?" asked Sam.

"Me very good man."

"I am glad to hear it."

"Me and all my men, good friends to whites."

"And I am a good friend to the Indians; if you let me alone, I shall let you alone. Good-night," said Sam, hoping that the Indian might prove sensitive and take this as a hint to leave, but he had entirely mistaken his man.

"When sun come up then where you go?" asked the chief, with the same inquisitive manner.

At this juncture it struck Sam that he might be able not only to make these people his friends, but to utilize them in getting to his father, so he said in a kindlier tone than he had yet used:

"We are going to Hurley's Gulch."

"You live there?"

"I want to get there. Do you know the _shortest_ road?"

This was asked as if Sam might be well acquainted with the longest road himself.

"Oh, yes," said the chief.

"If you guide me-by the shortest way-to Hurley's Gulch to-morrow morning, I will give you money, rifles, pistols, knives, blankets, and lots of other good things," said Sam with lavish generosity.

"You got money, rifles, knives, blankets, all good things with you here, eh?" asked the chief.

"We have all the arms we need for our own defense, and we know how to use them. But you guide me to Hurley's Gulch, and I will keep my word,"

said Sam, with more confidence than he felt.

Instead of replying at once to this generous proposition, the chief spoke with his followers for some minutes in low, guttural tones.

Sam could hear the murmur of their voices, and he rightly guessed that they were discussing whether to accept his offer in good faith, or to kill and rob himself and his companions.

"We see you, sun up; you no leave," called out the chief at length.

"You must make up your mind to-night, for I am going to leave early in the morning," said Sam.

"Oh, all right. I on hand," was the chief's reply.

Again they consulted together, and Sam could see that four men remained behind to watch, while the others, with the chief, went down to the fire.

All this time Sam was in great trouble about Ulna, for he did not even suspect that he was a prisoner in the hands of his cruel tribal foes.

Ike and Wah Shin were in great tribulation about themselves, for they had no faith in the Indians; indeed, they firmly believed that the Apaches would scalp them all on the morrow.

Ike gave expression to his feelings in the remark: