" Girty's face did not change, but his tone was one
of annoyance.
"Jim said he'd be here to-day, didn't he?"
"To-day is as long as we allowed to wait."
"He'll come. Where's Jake and Mac?"
"They're here somewhere, drinkin' like fish, an' raisin' hell."
Two more renegades appeared at the door, and, entering the teepee,
squatted down in Indian fashion. The little wiry man with the
wizened face was McKee; the other was the latest acquisition to the
renegade force, Jake Deering, deserter, thief, murderer--everything
that is bad. In appearance he was of medium height, but very
heavily, compactly built, and evidently as strong as an ox. He had a
tangled shock of red hair, a broad, bloated face; big, dull eyes,
like the openings of empty furnaces, and an expression of
beastliness.
Deering and McKee were intoxicated.
"Bad time fer drinkin'," said Girty, with disapproval in his glance.
"What's that ter you?" growled Deering. "I'm here ter do your work,
an' I reckon it'll be done better if I'm drunk."
"Don't git careless," replied Girty, with that cool tone and dark
look such as dangerous men use. "I'm only sayin' it's a bad time fer
you, because if this bunch of frontiersmen happen to git onto you
bein' the renegade that was with the Chippewas an' got thet young
feller's girl, there's liable to be trouble.
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