"Yes, I'm sure. And Colorou was just a-going it with his war bonnet on
and shaking his tomahawk and yelling--"

"Ye did well, lad. We'll be leaving for Big Creek to-night, so run away
now and rest yourself."

"Oh, and can I go?" Buddy's voice was shrill with eagerness.

"I'll need you, lad, to look after the horses. It will give me one more
hand with the cattle. Now go tell Step-and-a-Half to make ready for a
week on the trail, and to have supper early so he can make his start
with the rest."

Buddy walked stiffly away to the cook's cabin where Step-and-a-Half sat
leisurely gouging the worst blemishes out of soft, old potatoes with a
chronic tendency to grow sprouts, before he peeled them for supper His
crippled leg was thrust out straight, his hat was perched precariously
over one ear because of the slanting sun rays through the window, and
a half-smoked cigarette waggled uncertainly in the corner of his mouth
while he sang dolefully a most optimistic ditty of the West:

"O give me a home where the buff-alo roam, Where the deer and the
antelope play, Where never is heard a discouraging word And the sky is
not cloudy all day."

"You're going to hear a discouraging word right now," Buddy broke in
ruthlessly upon the song. Whereupon, with a bit of importance in
his voice and in his manner, he proceeded to spoil Step-and-a-Half's
disposition and to deepen, if that were possible, his loathing of
Indians. Too often had he made dubious soup of his dishwater and the
leavings from a roundup crew's dinner, and watched blanketed bucks
smack lips over the mess, to run from them now without feeling utterly
disgusted with life. Step-and-a-Half's vituperations could be heard
above the clatter of pots and pans as he made ready for the journey.

That night's ride up the pass through the narrow range of high-peaked
hills to the Tomahawk's farthest range on Big Creek was a tedious
affair to Buddy. A man had been sent on a fast horse to warn the nearest
neighbor, who in turn would warn the next,--until no settler would
be left in ignorance of his danger. Ezra was already on the trail to
Laramie, with mother and Dulcie and the cats and a slat box full of
chickens, and a young sow with little pigs.

Buddy, whose word no one had questioned, who might pardonably have
considered himself a hero, was concerned chiefly with his mother's
flower garden which he had helped to plant and had watered more or
less faithfully with creek water c