ed and motley-shirted men as they blew on their red hands or
beat them against their legs. Some were lucky enough to have woollen or
fur gloves, but many had only the white cotton affairs furnished by the
government. Sarah the squaw laughed at them: the interpreter was warm as
she rode in her bright green shawl. While the dismounted troopers
stretched their limbs during the halt, she remained on her pony talking
to one and another.

"Gray Fox heap savvy," said she to Mr. Long. "He heap get up in the
mornin'."

"Thet's what he does, Sarah."

"Yas. No give soldier hy-as Sunday" (a holiday).

"No, no," assented Mr. Long. "Gray Fox go teh-teh" (trot).

"Maybe he catch E-egante, maybe put him in skookum-house (prison)?"
suggested Sarah.

"Oh no! Lor'! E-egante good Injun. White Father he feed him. Give him
heap clothes," said Mr. Long.

"A--h!" drawled Sarah, dubiously, and rode by herself.

"You'll need watchin'," muttered Jack Long.

The trumpet sounded, the troopers swung into their saddles, and the line
of march was taken up as before, Crook at the head of the column, his
ragged fur collar turned up, his corduroys stuffed inside a wrinkled
pair of boots, the shot-gun balanced across his saddle, and nothing to
reveal that he was any one in particular, unless you saw his face. As
the morning grew bright, and empty, silent Idaho glistened under the
clear blue, the General talked a little to Captain Glynn.

"E-egante will have crossed Snake River, I think," said he. "I shall try
to do that to-day; but we must be easy on those horses of yours. We
ought to be able to find these Indians in three days."

"If I were a lusty young chief," said Glynn, "I should think it pretty
tough to be put on a reservation for dipping a couple of kittens in the
molasses."

"So should I, captain. But next time he might dip Mrs. Dailey. And I'm
not sure he didn't have a hand in more serious work. Didn't you run
across his tracks anywhere this summer?"

"No, sir. He was over on the Des Chutes."

"Did you hear what he was doing?"

"Having rows about fish and game with those Warm Spring Indians on the
west side of the Des Chutes."

"They're always poaching on each other. There's bad blood between
E-egante and Uma-Pine."

"Uma-Pine's friendly, sir, isn't he?"

"Well, that's a question," said Crook. "But there's no question about
this E-egante and his Pah-Utes. We've got to catch him. I'm sorry for
him. He doesn't see why he sho