le as her friends, but she was proud of being
an Indian, and she liked to think that her race could outwit the soldier
now and then. She laughed again when she thought of old Mrs. Dailey
running from E-egante.

"What's up with ye, Sarah?" said Jack Long, for the squaw's laughter had
come suddenly on a spell of silence.

"He!" said she. "All same jack-rabbit. No catch him." She stood shaking
her head at Long, and showing her white, regular teeth. Then abruptly
she went away to her tent without any word, not because she was in
ill-humor or had thought of something, but because she was an Indian and
had thought of nothing, and had no more to say. She met the men
returning from the stables; admired Jones and smiled at him, upon which
he murmured "Oh fie!" as he passed her. The troop broke ranks and
dispersed, to lounge and gossip until mess-call. Cumnor and Jones were
putting a little snow down each other's necks with friendly profanity,
when Jones saw the peddler standing close and watching them. A high
collar of some ragged fur was turned up round his neck, disguising the
character of the ancient army overcoat to which it was attached, and
spots and long stains extended down the legs of his corduroys to the
charred holes at the bottom, where the owner had scorched them warming
his heels and calves at many camp-fires.

"Hello, uncle," said Jones. "What y'u got in your pack?" He and Cumnor
left their gambols and eagerly approached, while Mr. Jack Long, seeing
the interview, came up also to hear it. "'Ain't y'u got something to
sell?" continued Jones. "Y'u haven't gone and dumped yer whole outfit at
the commanding officer's, have y'u now?"

"I'm afraid I have." The low voice shook ever so little, and if Jones
had looked he would have seen a twinkle come and go in the gray-blue
eyes.

"We've been out eight months, y'u know, fairly steady," pursued Jones,
"and haven't seen nothing; and we'd buy most anything that ain't too
damn bad," he concluded, plaintively.

Mr. Long, in the background, was whining to himself with joy, and he now
urgently beckoned Keyser to come and hear this.

"If you've got some cheap poker chips," suggested Cumnor.

"And say, uncle," said Jones, raising his voice, for the peddler was
moving away, "decks, and tobacco better than what they keep at the
commissary. Me and my friend'll take some off your hands. And if you're
comin' with new stock to-morrow, uncle" (Jones was now shouting after
him),