"I don't care a tinker's cuss what he say. It's what _I_ say counts on this job."
"Did they hurt boss?" Koppy's voice was servilely anxious. "Lefty tell me Morani stab."
Torrance laughed contemptuously. He was stroking his moustache with the injured hand; now he threw both arms out and repeated the sneering laugh.
"Chico's knife is more dangerous to himself than to me." He turned back and picked up the stiletto from the table. "Here"--tossing it on the ground before the Pole--"tell him he dropped his needle in his hurry; and I guess he didn't want to come back for it. It's no use to me. Your five hundred Chicos, with all their knives and knuckle-dusters, can't come up here and give orders."
"No, you won't." Torrance's mind was working with unusual celerity. "They got what was coming to them from my fists this time. Next time they'll need a doctor--or an undertaker. Besides, it's not your business to fire. That's all. Good-night."
"Ignace Koppowski hope young missus not frightened," came the voice from the darkness.
"Why should she be? There ain't enough men in the camp to hurt her. If you doubt it, refer to Werner and Morani."
Koppowski coughed. "Indian strong man. Indian save your life. Godd! But he hurt my men. Indian look out. They never forget. You tell him?"
"Tell him yourself," jerked the contractor. "And I'd like to be around when you're at it. I fancy he can look after himself."
"Indian need to," said Koppy from the darkness.
Blue Pete glided in and tossed aside the blanket of his Indian disguise with a gesture of irritability. With a petulant kick his beaded moccasins struck the ceiling of the cave, and, sighing, he sank his feet into the more familiar high-heeled cowboy boots.
Mira, moving busily about the camp stove in a recess, noted it all without turning her head--noted, too, that there the usual routine of his return was interrupted. The great two-inch spurs, his individual twist to cowboy attire--great spiked wheels which he never used, but whose glitter and rattle seemed to satisfy him--were forgotten. Instead, he sank to the rocky floor and meditatively drew from his belt the beloved corncob pipe.
Troubled, Mira went about the preparation of their evening meal with a plaintive quietness. Juno, too, seemed oppressed, for after a tentative wriggle of her stump of a tail she settled back on her haunches, eyes fixed on her mistress.