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Updated: June 18, 2025
The cowman saw phases of this extraordinary business that had not presented themselves to the youth, and he now proceeded to impress them upon him. In the first place, the cunning Tozer would make sure of protecting himself and Motoza, though the last was purely a matter of policy and self interest, since he was always ready to sacrifice a comrade.
It was a piece of paper, apparently the blank leaf of a letter. There was no writing or mark on it to indicate its ownership, but had it been the visiting-card of Fred Greenwood, Hank Hazletine could not have been more positive that it belonged to the young man. It was impossible that Motoza should carry writing-paper with him.
Hank Hazletine was keener mentally than most of his friends suspected. He had more acumen than even Bill Tozer suspected. A great light flashed upon the cowman, and the questions and answers which fell from his lips during the next few minutes were intended to hide his real purpose. "What do you mean by treating Motoza right? If he was treated right he'd be kicking the air this very minute."
Before Fred, slightly at the rear, could gain sight of the Indian, Jack broke into a lope and called: "Hold on there, Motoza! You have something that belongs to me." The dusky vagrant was alone and walking at a moderate pace from the youth.
"I don't know enough about Indians to judge them correctly, but I think their nature must be similar to our own. Motoza formed a respect for me because of the manner in which I handled him the other night." "That is my belief; and it is not only respect, but friendship. He likes you, and will never do you harm." "What about you?" "I am not so clear there.
The younger was standing a little to the rear and to one side, but his Winchester, it will be remembered, was in his hand, and was now pointed at the dusky scamp. "Motoza, if you want to preserve that sweet countenance of yours, hand that gun to my friend before I let daylight through you!"
Fred was still apprehensive of some sudden violence from the Sioux, and, though in the gloom he could see nothing of him, he was ready to make the best struggle possible. "Am I to stay here, Motoza?" he asked, raising his voice to a high pitch. Instead of replying directly, the Indian asked: "Huh! you fader hab heap money, eh?"
"Howdy, brother?" he said, extending his hand, which was taken rather gingerly by the surprised youth, who recognized him as Motoza, the vagrant Sioux, with whom he had had the singular experience some nights before, when encamped in the grove on the prairie. "Why, I didn't suspect it was you," added Jack, hardly knowing how to address him.
"The younker's father lives in New York; he's got to be reached, and the question laid afore him. How much money will Motoza ask to produce the younker?" "Certainly not much something like five thousand dollars, I should say." "That is rather a healthy pile for you or me, but I don't 'spose it's more than a trifle for them folks in the East."
"Tozer of himself would turn you over sound in limb and body; but, since it was the Sioux who done all the work, as you have showed us, Bill had to make a sort of compromise with the villain, and that compromise was that you should be left with Motoza till the hour come fur you to be produced. That was the price Bill had to pay Motoza fur what he done.
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