closing his arms around her neck in a sturdy hug. "But I'm
father's horse-wrangler, too. And a horse-wrangler has got to hold
up his end. I--I didn't want to kill anybody, honest. But Injuns are
different. You kill rattlers, and they ain't as mean as Injuns. That one
I shot at was shooting at me before I even so much as knew there was one
around. I just shot back. Father would, or anybody else."

"I know--I know," she conceded, the tender womanliness of her sighing
over the need. In the next moment she was all mother, ready to fight for
her young. "Buddy, never, never ride ANYWHERE without your rifle! And a
revolver, too--be sure that it is in perfect condition. And--have you
a knife? You're so LITTLE!" she wailed. "But father will need you, and
he'll take care of you--and Colorou would not let you be hurt if he
knew. But--Buddy, you must be careful, and always watching--never let
them catch you off your guard. I shall be in Laramie before you and
father and the boys, I suppose, if the Indians really do break out. And
you must promise me--"

"I'll promise, mother. And don't you go and trust old Colorou an inch.
He was jumping higher than any of 'em, and shaking his tomahawk and
yelling--he'd have scalped me right there if he'd seen me watching 'em.
Mother, I'm going to find father and tell him. And you may as well be
packing up, and--don't leave my guitar for them to smash, will you,
mother?"

His mother laughed then and pushed him toward the door. She had an idea
of her own and she did not want to be hindered now in putting it into
action. Up the creek, in the bank behind a clump of willows, was a
small cave--or a large niche, one might call it--where many household
treasures might be safely hidden, if one went carefully, wading in the
creek to hide the tracks. She followed Buddy out, and called to Ezra
who was chopping wood with a grunt for every fall of the axe and many
rest--periods in the shade of the cottonwood tree.

At the stable, Buddy looked back and saw her talking earnestly to Ezra,
who stood nodding his head in complete approval. Buddy's knowledge of
women began and ended with his mother. Therefore, to him all women
were wonderful creatures whom men worshipped ardently because they were
created for the adoration of lesser souls. Buddy did not know what his
mother was going to do, but he was sure that whatever she did would be
right; so he hoisted his saddle on the handiest fresh horse, and loped
off to