“Kill them both at first shot, chief?”
Jerry asked; “I did not hear another report.”
“Close by,” the chief said; “no
could miss.”
“It seems a pity to lose such a quantity of
meat,” Tom remarked.
“The Indians seldom carry off more than the
hindquarters of a deer, never if they think there
is a chance of getting more soon. There is a
lot more flesh on the hindquarters than there is on
the rest of the stag. But that they are wasteful,
the red-skins are, can’t be denied. Even
when they have got plenty of meat they will shoot a
buffalo any day just for the sake of his tongue.”
It was still early in the afternoon when they passed
under the shadow of the buttes, and, two miles farther,
came upon a small lake, the water from which ran north.
Here they unsaddled the horses and prepared to camp.
IN DANGER
There were no bushes that would serve their purpose
near the lake; they therefore formed their camp on
the leeward side of a large boulder. The greatest
care was observed in gathering the fuel, and it burned
with a clear flame without giving out the slightest
smoke.
“Dead wood dries like tinder in this here air,”
the miner said. “In course, if there wur
any red-skins within two or three miles on these hills
they would make out the camp, still that ain’t
likely; but any loafing Indian who chanced to be hunting
ten or even fifteen miles away would see smoke if
there was any, and when a red-skin sees smoke, if he
can’t account for it, he is darned sartin to
set about finding out who made it.”
The horses fared badly, for there was nothing for
them to pick up save a mouthful of stunted grass here
and there.
“Plenty of grass to-morrow,” the chief
said in answer to a remark of Tom as to the scantiness
of their feed. “Grass down by Buffalo Lake
good.”
Early the next morning they mounted and rode down
the hills into Big Wind River valley. They did
not go down to the river itself, but skirted the foot
of the hills until they reached Buffalo Lake.
“There,” the chief said, pointing to a
pile of ashes, “the fire of my white brother.”
Alighting, he and Hunting Dog searched the ground
carefully round the fire. Presently the younger
Indian lightly touched the chief and pointed to the
ground. They talked together, still carefully
examining the ground, and moved off in a straight line
some fifty yards. Then they returned.
“Indian here,” Leaping Horse said, “one,
two days ago. Found fire, went off on trail of
white men.”
“That is bad news, chief.”
“Heap bad,” the Indian said gravely.
“Perhaps he won’t follow far,” Tom
suggested.
The Indian made no answer. He evidently considered
the remark to be foolish.
