I know you are a great thief, Motoza, but you can't steal that Winchester from me; hand it over!" And Jack extended his hand again; but the Sioux persisted in keeping the weapon behind him, though his own was in front, where the lad might have been tempted to snatch it from his grasp.
The youth was fast losing his self-command.

He had learned the character of this vagrant from Hazletine, and it was plain that he meant to retain the valuable weapon, while Jack was equally determined he should not.
"I tell you for the last time to give me my gun! _Do you hear ?_" The demand was made in a loud voice and accompanied by a threatening step toward the Indian, who showed no fear.

The grin, however, had left his face, and he recoiled a step with such a tigerish expression on his ugly countenance that his assailant ought to have been warned of his danger.

Motoza, the Sioux, was ready to commit murder for the sake of retaining that which did not belong to him.
"Stop!" commanded Fred Greenwood, whom both seemed to have forgotten in the flurry of the moment.
The younger was standing a little to the rear and to one side, but his Winchester, it will be remembered, was in his hand, and was now pointed at the dusky scamp.
"Motoza, if you want to preserve that sweet countenance of yours, hand that gun to my friend before I let daylight through you!".