Then I looked quickly back at the man, who had already dropped from his horse, and seemed scarcely able to stand.

Was this true, had he ridden here unknowing whom he would meet, with no other thought but to save his life?
Heaven knows he looked the part--his swarthy face dirtied, with a stain of blood on one cheek, his shirt ripped into rags, bare-headed, and with a look of terror in his eyes not to be mistaken.

Villain and savage as I knew him to be, I still felt a strange wave of pity sweep me--pity and tenderness, mingled with hatred and distrust.
"Kirby," I said, and strode in between him and Tim's levelled weapon.
"There is no friendship between us--now, or at any time.

I believe you to be a miserable, snarling dog; but I would save even a cur from Indian torture.

Did you know we were here ?" "No, so help me God.