"His trip down-river give his standing an awful jolt. They blame his medicine for the licking. He thought to make 'em forgit by corralling us an' gittin' a big ransom, but the Lance blocks that game. If the Lance dies the Lance's band will blame him, an' say he poisoned the cuss. He's just got to cure the Lance or have trouble. With his own men gitting sassy he can't afford to let that happen."
"If the Lance gets well he'll probably hold us for ransom just the same," observed Lander.
"He'll have to be crowded awful hard before he'd do that. First place, he'd be afraid of my medicine. Second place, he knows he can't go only 'bout so far before McKenzie would have to call a halt. But if McKenzie l'arns 'bout the beaver packs he won't call a halt till he's got his paws on 'em. I'm going to git out of this camp to-morrer if I have to take Gauche up in front of me."
Lander worried down some of the tough meat while Bridger ate heartily. Groups of warriors kept passing the tent and eying it malevolently. Bridger ignored them but Lander shifted his knife from boot to belt and would have felt more at ease had Gauche been with them. The chief, however, had disappeared.
