miliar Indian
tricks--now leaning far over until his twin braids brushed the ground,
now leaping off in full flight and on again as the horse came round in
the circle; lying flat along the horse's side until only one leg from
knee to foot was visible, leaning far over to peer at them under the
horse's neck. As a finale he stood erect while the broncho dashed
headlong for the bank. At the very brink it dropped back with braced
legs, and the Indian, leaping gracefully backward, turned a somersault
and landed on his feet.

"By hickory!" Torrance whistled through his teeth. "I know a showman
would swop his whole caboodle for half an hour of that. I wonder what
I'm expected to do over here to hold up my end. I want to be civil. I
don't know anything that wouldn't look cheap after that. Wish I'd done
mine first. Hi, you!" He was adding voice to arms. "That trestle'll
bear _you_ anyway. Trot over and shake. Bring that little beast that
looks like a horse, and I'll get you the biggest audience this side of
Winnipeg."

Down in the camp half a thousand bohunks were watching every move.

The Indians had dismounted. He was pointing across the trestle. His
squaw seemed to hesitate.

"If I made a sound like a bottle of fire-water," grinned Torrance,
"he'd beat the record."

"You're not to let them have a drop. Now remember, daddy."

"The nearest bar's too far away to waste it on an Indian, my dear. But
there's methylated spirits somewhere in the stores--and you've a bottle
or two of flavoring extract, haven't you? All it needs is a
smell. . . . They're tackling the trestle, Tressa. Bully for you, Big
Chief! You got Murphy beat a mile. Must have heard us talking about
fire-water. Wonderful ears, them Indians have."

Adrian Conrad, ready for his evening visit, slipped his automatic in
his pocket and hastened up the slope. He arrived as the squaw, with a
nervous little run, covered the last few yards of the trestle and
stamped moccasined feet on solid ground. The Indian, frightened as he
plainly was, stalked stolidly on to her side. "Nothing the white man
can do," he seemed to say, "will flurry me."

Torrance met them with extended hand.

"I hope my little conversation with my daughter didn't raise false
hopes, Big Chief. I haven't a drop that's fit to swallow."

The Indians stared at the extended hand in silence.

"I don't know whether they shake hands in your language," explained
Torrance, "but