That is all it amounts to. You do not make me feel
bad by what you say."

Crazy Cow, seeing that he could not get Ted angry with his banter, tried
a new tack.

"Hah, little bay pony," he cried, addressing Bingo. "Are you a squaw
pony?"

He paused in a listening attitude as if he was paying close attention to
what the pony was saying.

"Yes, you are ashamed to be ridden by a squaw who does not fight, but
only talks. Come over here, squaw pony, and be ridden by a man."

Again his speech was greeted by the laughter of the Indians, to whom it
was interpreted by the disguised white man.

"So you think I will not fight, eh? You think I am a squaw, do you?"
said Ted quietly.

The Indian only laughed.

"I will show you who is the squaw. I will thrash you with my quirt until
you cry out with pain. You may keep your gun. I am not afraid of it."

"Now you begin to talk a little like a man. But you won't fight. Little
pony, you are ridden by a squaw. Why don't you throw him off and come to
me, who is a fighter?"

"Fellows, stand fast," said Ted to the boys. "I'm going to give that
young buck such a licking as he never thought possible. If they don't
play fair, shoot."

Ted threw his rifle to Ben, so that he would not be burdened by it, and
rode toward the Indian, who also threw his weapon to one of his
followers. In his right hand he carried a long, braided Indian whip of
thongs. It was a cruel weapon, for the Indian is cruel to everything in
his power, from his squaw to his dog.

This he grasped firmly in his right hand, and awaited Ted's coming with
a satirical smile on his face.

Ted had been coming on quietly, but when he was a few feet from Crazy
Cow he suddenly gave Bingo the spur, and the astonished horse reached
the Indian's side in two jumps.

Without a moment's hesitation Ted reached forward and grasped the Indian
by a collar of leather which he wore laced around his throat, somewhat
after the fashion of the white linen chokers worn by young white men.

Furiously the young Indian lashed out with his quirt, which struck Ted
across the shoulders, and made him wince with the burning sharpness of
it.

But Ted was back at him like a flash, and his quirt sang through the air
and slapped upon the buckskin shirt worn by the Indian.

Crazy Cow, whom the lash had not hurt in the least, only laughed.

Ted saw that he might go on thrashing the Indian all day upon his shirt,
and that it would have no more effe