“This woman is my betrothed! I must take her to my homeland!” Vivian Maldonado said, like a regular Manzoni.

“Come to my homeland and we’ll let you try some good bear grease,” Bloody Feathers said amiably, ignoring Vivian’s declaration.

“I love her, she’s my sun and my moon,” Vivian declared. Even Billy had to smirk at that way of putting it, though Bloody Feathers didn’t seem to regard it as anything out of the ordinary.

“I want to marry her!” Vivian exclaimed—I suppose he thought that would be the clincher.

“Not today, señor,” Bloody Feathers said, turning his horse. “Her grandmother needs her at home to help out with the goats.”

He started to turn his horse, but Vivian Maldonado, the passionate acrobat, reached out and grabbed the bridle.

“I’ll give you money!” he said. “I’ll buy you cows.”

Bloody Feathers lifted his rifle—it was still in the fringed scabbard—and rapped Vivian on the wrist rather sharply, causing him to turn loose the bridle.

“Please don’t interfere with my horse,” Bloody Feathers said. “He might run away. Smelling that skunk grease you put on your hair has already upset him.”

Vivian had worked himself into a hot Neapolitan rage—a vein stood out on his forehead. He flung off the serape and went for his gun, a fine pearl-handled Colt, the very weapon Billy had been so anxious to trade for.

I had to admit he was quick, too—but the Apache was quicker. Before Vivian could shoot, he leaned over, caught him by the ear, and lifted him off the ground. Vivian was a light, agile fellow, but the ease with which Bloody Feathers lifted him off the ground and simply held him kicking is something I’ll never forget.

It must have been painful to be held by the cartilage of one’s own ear, for Vivian let out such a shriek that the departing cowboys, already far down the Pecos, stopped for a moment to look back before racing on.

Once he had him lifted, Bloody Feathers turned Vivian just enough that the pistol was pointed in our direction.

“You can shoot those Americans if you need to shoot somebody,” he said, in the same amiable tones.

Vivian, though, had lost all thought of murder; his face was stretched almost beyond recognition and he continued to emit piercing shrieks.

Bloody Feathers appeared to be under no strain, and could probably have held Vivian Maldonado a foot off the ground indefinitely, but the two Apaches who had come with him were back with the cattle. They were in a high good humor, grinning at the little sport their chief was having.