"
"Whut's up?"
"Is there anything serious going on outside?"
"No; nuthin' much--just pow-wowin'. Yer want me?"
"Search that scoundrel for weapons. Don't ask questions; do what I
say."
He made short work of it, using no gentle methods.
"Wal' the gent wasn't exactly harmless," he reported, grinning
cheerfully, "considerin' this yere knife an cannon. Now, maybe ye'll
tell me whut the hell's up?"
Kirby stood erect, his dark eyes searching our faces, his lips scornful.
"And perhaps, Mr. Lieutenant Knox," he added sarcastically. "You might
condescend to explain to me also the purpose of this outrage."
"With pleasure," but without lowering my rifle. "This boy here
belonged to the company of soldiers massacred yesterday morning. You
know where I mean. He was the only one to escape alive, and he saw you
there among the savages--free, and one of them."
"He tells you that? And you accept the word of that half-wit?"
"He described your appearance to us exactly twenty-four hours ago. I
never thought of you at the time, although the description was accurate
enough, because it seemed so impossible for you to have been there.
But that isn't all, Kirby. What has become of the emblem pin you wore
in your tie? It is gone, I see."
His hand went up involuntarily. It is possible he had never missed it
before, for a look of indecision came into the man's face--the first
symptom of weakness I had ever detected there.
"It must have been lost--mislaid--"
"It was; and I chance to be able to tell you where--in this very room.
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