"How the h--l kin I do it?" growled the bushwhacker, feeling that his
intelligence and courage were unjustly called in question. "He's allays
around the train, an' his sojers allays handy. I hain't had nary chance."

"Take him off on a hunt."

"He ain't a gwine. I reckon he knows himself. I'm afeard to praise huntin'
much to him; he might get on my trail. Tell you these army chaps is resky.
I never wanted to meddle with them kind o' close. You know I said so. I
said so, fair an' square, I did."

"You might manage it somehow, if you had the pluck."

"Had the pluck!" repeated Texas Smith. His sallow, haggard face turned
dusky with rage, and his singularly black eyes flamed as if with
hell-fire. A Malay, crazed with opium and ready to run _amok_, could not
present a more savage spectacle than this man did as he swayed in his
saddle, grinding his teeth, clutching his rifle, and glaring at Coronado.
What chiefly infuriated him was that the insult should come from one whom
he considered a "greaser," a man of inferior race. He, Texas Smith, an
American, a _white man_, was treated as if he were an "Injun" or a
"nigger." Coronado was thoroughly alarmed, and smoothed his ruffled
feathers at once.

"I beg your pardon," he said, promptly. "My dear Mr. Smith, I was entirely
wrong. Of course I know that you have courage. Everybody knows it.
Besides, I am under the greatest obligations to you. You saved my life. By
heavens, I am horribly ashamed of my injustice."