The nose was long and hooked, and the mouth
set in a thin, cruel line. There was in the man's aspect an
extraordinary combination of ignorance, vanity, cunning and
ferocity.
While the two chiefs held a short consultation, this
savage-appearing white man addressed the brothers.
"Who're you, an' where you goin'?" he asked gruffly, confronting
Jim.
"My name is Downs. I am a preacher, and was on my way to the
Moravian Mission to preach to the Indians. You are a white man; will
you help us?"
If Jim expected the information would please his interrogator, he
was mistaken.
"So you're one of 'em? Yes, I'll do suthin' fer you when I git back
from this hunt. I'll cut your heart out, chop it up, an' feed it to
the buzzards," he said fiercely, concluding his threat by striking
Jim a cruel blow on the head.
Joe paled deathly white at this cowardly action, and his eyes, as
they met the gaze of the ruffian, contracted with their
characteristic steely glow, as if some powerful force within the
depths of his being were at white heat and only this pale flash came
to the surface.
"You ain't a preacher?" questioned the man, meeting something in
Joe's glance that had been absent from Jim's.
Joe made no answer, and regarded questioner steadily.
"Ever see me afore? Ever hear of Jim Girty?" he asked boastfully.
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