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Updated: June 7, 2025
He limped off after I hit him, but I followed the trail easily and found him in the pecan grove, dead from whar I had struck him in the neck." This cool answer almost took Ralph's breath away from him. "It was I struck him in the neck, Hank Stiger, and the deer belongs to me, and you sha'n't bluff me out of my meat, either." "Hush, Ralph, don't be so headstrong," remonstrated Dan, in low tones.
"I didn't get Bison Head to attack you, he did that on his own account." "But you came in afterward and robbed the place. It is useless for you to deny any longer that you took those papers relating to this grant of land." For several minutes Stiger was silent. At last he lifted his eyes. "Are you goin' to give me dat drink?" he asked, falling back into his Indian accent.
Stiger glanced from one lad to the other, his face growing more sullen each instant. "This deer is mine, and you can't force me to give it up," he muttered. "Put down that gun, or we'll have trouble." "You put down the deer, first," said Ralph, sturdily. "It's my deer, not yours, and I won't put it down. I'm not afraid of two youngsters like you." Again Ralph's temper got the better of him.
The cry came faintly from Henry, who had slowly raised himself. "Where what oh, I remember, now!" And he sank back again. "It's all right, Henry; I've made Stiger a prisoner." "A prisoner!" whined the half-breed. "Ain't I suffered enough already? My leg is somethin' fearful!" and he groaned again. "You brought it all on yourself, Stiger, so you need not complain to me." "I didn't, you "
As he sat up, the boy faced him sternly. "Up with your hands, Stiger," he said, sternly; and the hands went up, and Dan was master of the situation. "What are you going to do with me?" asked Hank Stiger, after a moment of painful silence, during which Dan glanced toward Henry, to find his friend reviving rapidly. "You'll find out later, Stiger.
The report, which awakened all of the others, was followed by a scream of pain from the half-breed, who went a step or two more and then sank in a heap. "What does this mean?" demanded Amos Radbury, as he, too, seized his gun. "Are we attacked by Indians?" "No, we were attacked by Hank Stiger," answered Dan, and pointed to the keg of powder. "My powder! What was he going to do with that?"
"I now wish I had kept Hank Stiger here," said Mr. Radbury. The half-breed had left the ranch but three days before, apparently very grateful for the manner in which he had been treated. "Well, one thing is certain," declared Dan, "I don't stand for giving up the claim. I'll fight first. Those Mexican officials can do as they please, but they can't budge me." "Good fer Dan!" shouted Stover.
"If you won't talk, neither shall you eat nor drink." "Then take me back to the Gonzales lockup," muttered Stiger. "We will, when we have the time. At present we have other matters to attend to." Left once more in charge of Pompey, the half-breed flew into a rage and muttered all sorts of imprecations against those who had outwitted him.
His intimacy with Oliver dated from one hot Sunday morning years before, when Oliver had broken in upon the old gentleman's long prayers by sundry scrapings of his finger-nails down the whitewashed wall of the school-room, producing a blood-cooling and most irreverent sound, much to the discomfort of the worshippers. "Who made that noise?" asked Mr. Stiger, when the amen was reached. "Me, sir."
First there was a slight bump, and then a rolling sound, and then he heard a scratching, as of steel upon flint. "I'm going to investigate this," he said to himself, and, catching up his gun, he ran to the door and threw it open. What he saw surprised him beyond measure. There, in the darkness, stood Hank Stiger.
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