as mine were when I was of your
age."

"I'm not a Lipan inside, Murray, nor any other kind of Indian. It
would take more than three years to do that."

"I've been among 'em seven. But then I never would paint."

The sun and the wind had painted him darkly enough; and if his hair had
once been "light," it was now as white as the tops of the mountains he
and Steve had been looking at.

Behind them, on a barren sandy level, through which ran a narrow stream
of ice-cold water, about three-score of wild-looking human beings were
dismounted, almost in a circle, each holding the end of a long "lariat"
of strong hide, at the other end of which was a horse.

Some seemed to have two and even three horses, as if they were on an
errand which might use up one and call for another. That was quite
likely, for Lipan warriors are terribly hard riders.

Those who had now but one horse had probably worn out their first mount
and turned him adrift by the way-side, to be picked up, Indian fashion,
on the way home.

When a plains Indian leaves a horse in that way, and does not find him
again, he tries his best to find some other man's horse to take his
place.

More than sixty Indian warriors, all in their war-paint, armed to the
teeth, with knives, revolvers, repeating-rifles of the best and latest
patterns, and each carrying a long steel-headed Mexican lance.

Not a bow or arrow or war-club among them. All such weapons belong to
the old, old times, or to poor, miserable, second-rate Indians, who
cannot buy anything better. The fierce and haughty Lipans and
Comanches, and other warlike tribes, insist on being armed as well as
the United States troops, and even better.

What could a cavalryman do with a lance?

About as much as an Indian with a sword; for that is one weapon the red
men could never learn the use of, from King Philip's day to this.

It was luncheon-time with that Lipan war-party, and they were hard at
work on their supplies of dried venison and cold roast buffalo-meat.

Their halt would not be a long one in a spot where there was no grass
for their horses, but they could hold a council while they were eating,
and they could listen to a speech from the short, broad, ugly-looking
old chief who now stood in the middle of the circle.

"To-la-go-to-de will not go back now till he has struck the Apaches.
He has come too far. The squaws of his village would laugh at him if
he rode through the mountains and came