Whereupon the Indian on the farther rim turned and began dignifiedly to climb through a rift in the ledge down into the Frying-pan.
"He wants a pow-wow," Luck called back to the bunch.

"You fellows stay where you're at I'm going out there in the middle and talk to him." "Now, Luck, don't let 'em make a dang monkey outa ye," Applehead protested anxiously.

"Injuns is tricky--" "That's all right.

You can keep a couple of rifles sighted on that old chief--that's what he is, I take it, from his actions and his talking 'sign' and then if they pot me, you can pot him.

But they won't.