A warning ray of sense must have come into Dorgan's fuddled brain as he looked again at the old puncher, for without a word he stumbled out into the darkness.
"That was mighty fine of you," Whitey said warmly, but the old man didn't seem to hear him.
He sat down and built a cigarette, and when it was lighted began to drawl between puffs.

"There's a lot o' folks that don't know nothin' 'bout Injuns, that has a lot o' 'pinions concernin' 'em," he said.

"They say you've got t' live with a feller t' know him, but that ain't so.

You c'n find out a lot by fightin' him.

That's how I got my feelin' for Injuns, an' it's th' kind you have for a good fighter." The incident with Dorgan seemed to have passed from his mind, though Whitey had lived long enough in the West to know that tragedy had lurked near.