“Thar's my chance!” ejaculated Rube Rattler, as one of the self-torturers was borne from the scene of his terrible ordeal. “We've got to do suthin' to keep our reputation up. The dogs hev been eyein' us fur hours, sayin', 'Why don't you fellars show yer grit?' Keep an eye on Tanglefoot. Ef they'll let us alone, I'll beat Rain-in-the-Face's time all holler!”
Before Midnight Jack could restrain his companion he was bounding toward the pole, in his hand a bloody knife which, with a well-counterfeited Indian yell, he had drawn from beneath the old cavalry jacket that loosely fitted his lank body.
Wild applause greeted Rube when he was recognised by the Indians as one of the visiting Teton Sioux, and in the presence of all he thrust one of the bloody wooden skewers beneath the garment and made it fast there. His yells revived the fainting four hanging half dead from their torture ropes, and he frantically threw himself back as if in proud consciousness of his strong sinews.
Old Tanglefoot's eyes flashed when he recognised the new man at the sun-dance.
“Is the keg-breaker crazy?” he murmured. “Why, he needn't make a-showin' of his grit. Bless my blossoms if he'd do thet if he knowed thet Timon Moss was so near!”
On, on went that mad sun-dance, and the sun crept westward as if reluctantly. One by one the Indians of the first lot retired victorious from the horrible ring, and others took their places, but the Red Jingo still held out.
He entered upon his fifth hour amid the yells of the whole assemblage.
Midnight Jack looked on in utter amazement. Was the man mad? had he fainted? or was he dead?
He longed to go forward and settle this mental conundrum, but the eyes of Squatting Bear admonished him to stand still.
More than once during that eventful day their not too friendly glances had met.
If Midnight Jack had doubted his discovery by the gin-trader, he no longer doubted.
“Thar's some shenanagan about that fellar's holdin' out,” ejaculated Tanglefoot in a tone that roused Gopher Gid. “He's not hangin' fair. Did you ever take pertic'lar notice of him, boy?”
“Go an' look right into his face,” was the unexpected reply. “Not an Indian'll tech you, fur ye're under Squattin' B'ar's pertection. Thar I've cut the foot-cords. Go an' look at the skunk!”