You will
find that we are good fighters, and that we can kill just as well as the
soldiers. The ranch is ours, and the cattle and horses are ours, and do
not belong to the young men of your tribe. They must leave us alone, or
we will be compelled to deal out justice to them in our own way, which
is a hard one."
"Very well, my brother," said the wily old chief. "We desire to live in
peace with our white brothers. Your cattle and horses shall be sacred to
our young men."
"I mean this," said Ted, looking at the old man severely. "Keep your
young men away from our ranch, or they will be killed."
At this Crazy Cow drew himself up to his full height, and looked at Ted
with scorn.
"Two can make killing," he said, in perfectly plain English.
"Perhaps they can," said Ted quickly. "But I want to say to you
particularly, that if you are ever seen within the lines of the Long Tom
Ranch again you will be sorry that you ever were born. I have said
enough. Get on your horses and go. You are now on the ranch. Get beyond
it."
The young Indian gave a short, harsh laugh, and strode toward a pony,
decorated after the fashion of war ponies with feathers and bits of red
flannel woven into his mane and tail.
The other Indians were not slow to follow his example, and soon they
were all mounted.
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