“Scar-Face jes’ got back to camp from the river,” Henderson informed him. “He tells me that we’d better watch out fer the Indians tonight. They’re gettin’ dangerous. The hull outfit is buzzin’ around like a swarm of mad hornets. He thinks they’re comin’ over.”
“All on account o’ that Indian kid La Lond cracked over the head this afternoon. He’s the chief’s son.
Brennan laughed. Alcohol had given him unlimited courage—of a sort. Just then he was worried more about the diminishing contents of the bottle than the chance possibility of an attack by Indians.
“Let ’em come,” he declared drunkenly. “What do we care? You ain’t afraid of a few Nitchies with bows an’ arrers, are yuh, Bear?”
“There’s close to two hundred of ’em, not countin’ a few strays they may be able to pick up. We ain’t got fifteen men.”
“Well, what do yuh think we’d better do?”
“I don’t think—I know. That’s what I came all the way over here fer. Wake up all the men, except them three kids, an’ give ’em rifles. Tell ’em to be ready an’ waitin’ in case the Indians decide to come over. I gotta supply of guns an’ ammunition over at the cabin, an’ I’ll look after that end if you’ll look after this.”
“I don’t think there’s no danger,” argued Brennan. “Why don’t you send Scar-Face back to sorta quiet ’em down?”
“Scar-Face has got a broken arrow in him already. He won’t live ’til mornin’.”
Brennan considered this startling news for a brief space.
When Brennan and Henderson had left, Dick lay quietly, pondering over the information. Were the Indians really planning an attack? Would they dare to do such a thing, fearful as they were of the white man’s guns? He sat up, blankets tucked around him, and listened intently, half expecting to hear the sound of the invaders prowling around in the rocks above. Brennan had returned to his cronies and regaled them with the conversation he had had with Henderson. Loud bursts of drunken laughter followed the recital.
“The ol’ man’s gettin’ so he’s afeared of his own shadow,” chortled one of them. “’Magine them Nitchies tryin’ to attack us. It don’t make sense. Why I ain’t a bit scairt to fight the hull blamed outfit alone. Pah!”
“He told me to wake up ever’body an’ give ’em guns,” giggled Brennan.