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Updated: June 18, 2025
To obey was to take him further from his comrade, but he obeyed. As he moved off, Motoza picked up the two weapons from the ground, thrusting the revolver into the girdle at his waist, while he carried the Winchester in his other hand.
If he is not rich, the father of that young man over yonder is, and he would let him have the money." "No doubt he'd do that very thing; but s'pose the thing is all fixed and carried out as you've been saying does Motoza fancy there won't be some accounts to be squared with him afterwards?" "You know what a cunning fellow he is.
Although he did not look around until hailed he must have known he was followed, but he stopped short and wheeled about with a wondering expression on his painted face. There could be no mistake by Jack Dudley, for Motoza was carrying two Winchesters, one in either hand, and a glance enabled the youth to recognize his own property. "Howdy, brother?" asked Motoza, with the old grin on his face.
"What do you suppose he was after?" "He'll steal anything he can lay his hands on. If he'd found us all asleep he'd shot every one of us. That's the kind of a feller Motoza is. You played it well on him, catching him as you did, but you'd played it a hanged sight better if you'd put a bullet through him afore you asked any questions." "What tribe does he belong to?" "That's a queer part of it.
From the pines on the other side of the stream, and near the middle of the depressed portion, three Indians stepped into view. The first anxiety of the youths was to learn whether Motoza was one of them; but he was not. All were strangers.
No; there was another theory which would explain the mystery: it was that Motoza, yielding to his implacable enmity of the youth, had placed him beyond all reach of his friends. The spirit of revenge with an American Indian is tenfold stronger than cupidity.
"I wish I knowed whether them imps know anything about that younker; they don't act as if they did, and yet they may be as deep in the bus'ness as Motoza." The last remark suggested a possibility which the cowman shrank from considering. It was that the Sioux was wholly innocent, and that all the mischief had been done through unsuspected parties.
"I am beginning to feel hungry." "I thought so," observed Hank, with a smile. "But there's no hurry. I can wait a little while." "You'll have to." "Now tell me who this man Tozer is?" "Wal, he's a reg'lar Motoza, except in blood. I run across him five years ago in Arizona, where he had been in the stage-robbin' bus'ness. Things got so hot he had to git out.
So it was that Motoza passed out of sight and the youth was once more left alone. But Jack's thoughts had taken a new turn.
I thought it was my shot that killed the game, but the bullet only grazed one of his antlers; it was Motoza who killed the buck, and he was entitled to him. Have you been to breakfast?" "Yes," replied the veteran, whose manner showed that he was displeased with the story he had just heard. "Hank," said Jack, "why did Motoza give us any of the venison?"
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