voice of Rickey was low and tense, and Connie whispered quickly:
"I'm alone. Can they talk English?"
"Some of 'em—a little. They trade on the Mackenzie."
Without answering, the boy faced the Indians who were closing about him, urged on by the frantic medicine man. He held up a small hand and, for an instant, the red men hesitated. The boyish voice cut clear, in tones of authority: "Stop! The first man that moves, dies!" The Service gun flashed from its holster and the firelight glinted ominously on its blue-black barrel as the hesitating Indians glanced uncertainly from one to the other.
"You can't get away with it, kid!" warned Rickey. "It's the old dervish, yonder. He's got 'em all gloomed up to die anyhow." His words were drowned in a flood of unintelligible vituperation, as the medicine man urged the Indians on. But, either the bucks knew they had plenty of time, or none cared to hasten his forthcoming journey to the Happy Hunting Ground, for despite the medicine man's raving, the Indians evinced a noticeable reluctance to obey. Pressing
