ere cooking. He had eaten nothing since morning, and
mountain air is a very hungry sort of air.

"That's right, my boy. There's no saying when you may get your next
square meal. There's hard work before you and me, and plenty of it."

The next thing that came to Steve was a surprise.

Murray had never worn paint or adopted any more of Indian ways than he
could help, but it was a wonder how soon he made himself look like a
white man.

There was more in the pack on his spare pony than Steve had imagined.

A few minutes' work with a pair of small scissors made a remarkable
change in his hair and beard, and then the long locks of Yellow Head
himself had to suffer.

"Go and scrub off every spot of paint, while I'm rigging my
hunting-shirt and leggings. You won't know me when you come back."

That was saying a little too much, but To-la-go-to-de himself expressed
his admiration. He had seen wilder looking white men, by the hundred,
among the border-settlements. No eyes in the world would suspect No
Tongue of being a Lipan.

The transformation in Steve's appearance was shortly even greater, for
Murray was able to furnish him with a "check" shirt and black silk
neckerchief.

"Buckskin trousers'll have to do, my boy. No boots in camp, but I can
knock the wrinkles out of this head-piece for you."

It was a black felt hat, and not very badly worn. Murray himself
always wore one, but the supply had not been good enough for a long
time to allow Steve to do the same.

"Now, Steve, I'm going to make old Two Knives give you the best mount
in camp--good as mine."

Such a war-party never carries any slow horses with it, but there were
some better than others, and the chief was as anxious as Steve that his
"scouts" should be well mounted. Otherwise they might not be able to
get back to him with any information they might pick up.

"Plenty of ammunition, Steve. Never mind any other kind of baggage,
except some jerked meat. We may have to live on that."

There was no need for To-la-go-to-de to urge them. Not a minute was
thrown away in their rapid preparations, and then the whole band turned
out to see them ride away.

"I tell you what, Steve," said Murray, "we're not dressed in the latest
fashion, but I haven't felt so much like a white man for years. I'll
act like one, too."

There was a flash of pain in his eyes as he said that. Could it be he
had ever done anything unworthy of his race and training?