that somehow he was helping mother.

After that they put the long, canvas-wrapped Something down in the hole,
and mother said "Our Father Who Art in Heaven ", with Buddy repeating it
uncertainly after her and pausing to say "TRETHpatheth" very carefully.
Then mother picked up Dulcie in her arms, took Buddy by the hand and
walked slowly back to the wagon, and would not let him turn to see what
the boys were doing.

It was from that day that Buddy missed Frank Davis, who had mysteriously
gone to Heaven, according to mother. Buddy's interest in Heaven was
extremely keen for a time, and he asked questions which not even mother
could answer. Then his memory of Frank Davis blurred. But never his
memory of that terrible time when the Tomahawk outfit lost five hundred
cattle in the dry drive and the stampede for water.

CHAPTER THREE: SOME INDIAN LORE

Buddy knew Indians as he knew cattle, horses, rattlesnakes and
storms--by having them mixed in with his everyday life. He couldn't tell
you where or when he had learned that Indians are tricky. Perhaps his
first ideas on that subject were gleaned from the friendly tribes who
lived along the Chisolm Trail and used to visit the chuck-wagon, their
blankets held close around them and their eyes glancing everywhere while
they grinned and talked and pointed--and ate. Buddy used to sit in the
chuck-wagon, out of harm's way, and watch them eat.

Step-and-a-Half had a way of entertaining Indians which never failed
to interest Buddy, however often he witnessed it. When Step-and-a-Half
glimpsed Indians coming afar off, he would take his dishpan and dump
into it whatever scraps of food were left over from the preceding meal.
He used to say that Indians could smell grub as far as a buzzard can
smell a dead carcase, and Buddy believed it, for they always arrived at
meal time or shortly afterwards. Step-and-a-Half would make a stew, if
there were scraps enough. If the gleanings were small, he would use the
dishwater--he was a frugal man--and with that for the start-off he would
make soup, which the Indians gulped down with great relish and many
gurgly sounds.

Buddy watched them eat what he called pig-dinner. When Step-and-a-Half
was not looking he saw them steal whatever their dirty brown hands could
readily snatch and hide under their blankets. So he knew from very early
experience that Indians were not to be trusted.

Once, when he had again strayed too far from camp, some Indian