e fightin' what's bound
to come."

"I'm going away to kill Injuns," was the calm reply. "That's my
business."

"Hacker, Scott 'n' me will go along with you," said Runner. "Now that
Howard's Creek has got a trader to keep the Injuns off, we ain't needed
here no more."

"I can keep the Indians away," cried Dale. "When I offer them my belts,
they'll be glad to receive them. You send them a few trade-belts in place
of the bloody ax and they'll be your friends, too."

"Bah!" roared Hughes, too disgusted to talk.

"What does the white Injun say?" yelled one of the young men.

He had barely put the query before John Ward stalked through the fort door
and stood at Dale's elbow. Speaking slowly and stressing his words in that
jerky fashion that marks an Indian's speech in English, he said:

"The trader is right. I have been a prisoner among Indians for many years.
I know their minds. Dale can go anywhere among Indians where he has been
before, and no hand will be lifted against him."

"You're a liar!" passionately cried Hughes, his hand creeping to his
belt.

Ward folded his arms across his deep chest and stared in silence at Hughes
for nearly a minute; then slowly said:

"No Indian ever called me that. It's a man of my own race that uses the
word to me."

"And a mighty cheap sample of his race," boomed Dale, his heavy face
convulsed with rage. "A cheap killer, who must strike from behind! Faugh!
It's creatures like you----" With an animal screech Hughes jumped for him.
Before we could seize the infuriated man Ward's arm was thrust across his
chest and with the rigidity of a bar of iron stopped the assault. Before
Hughes could pull knife or ax from his belt we hustled him into the
background. His three friends scowled ferociously but offered no
interference. It was obvious that the settlers as a body would not
tolerate any attack on Dale.

Inarticulate with rage, Hughes beckoned for Hacker, Scott and Runner to
follow him. A few rods away he halted and called out:

"Dale, I'll live to hear how your red friends have danced your scalp. Then
I'll go out and shoot some of them. That white Injun beside you will be
one of the first to stick burning splinters into your carcass. He's lived
with redskins too long to forget his red tricks. Come on, fellers."

This sorry disturbance depressed the spirits of the settlers. War was on,
and there was none of the Howard's Creek men who believed that any change
in their attitude