n Lone Wolf Canyon. The sight of the eagles in flight and, afterwards,
the signs of Injuns told me all I needed to know. Say, you didn't make
an extra good witness for the defence, else you'd have made 'em
understand that you weren't the enemy spy they took you for. Pity you
never mentioned the name of Gideon Birkenshaw, or of Buckskin Jack, or
even of your own father. Simon Sprott would sure have tumbled to your
innocence."

"Dare say," acknowledged Rube. "But how in thunder was I ter know as
any of 'em c'd understand English? Simon Sprott never let on that he
was anythin' but a pure Injun until after I was condemned."

"You ain't hurt any, I hope?" Kiddie inquired.

"Nope. Shins are some scorched. Moccasins an' leggin's are spoilt,
an' my eyes are nippin'. Oh, an' they've took my six-shooter, Kiddie.
D'you reckon we c'n get it back?"

"Very likely," said Kiddie. "I'll ask Si Sprott. Here he is comin'
back."

CHAPTER XVII

THE RUSE OF THE BUFFALO TRAIL

Simon Sprott approached them, smiling as Indian medicine men are not
supposed to smile.

"You'll put up in my lodge until we can get your own outfit brought
along," he said. "You'll both be hungry, after what you've gone
through. Indian food, cooked by Indians, isn't at all bad."

He conducted them into his teepee, and Rube Carter was surprised to see
how comfortably furnished it was, with a camp bed and washing-stand, a
table and two or three chairs, as well as a stove, and even a shelf of
books.

Simon Sprott looked at Kiddie in deliberate scrutiny.

"Friend of Gid Birkenshaw's, you tell me?" he said very slowly. "And
the son of Buckskin Jack. Well, Gid and me, we was pals years and
years ago, trapping up on the head waters of the Platte. Yes, and
afterwards, when he'd settled down in his ranch on the Sweetwater, I
seem to remember a nipper that he'd bought from an Indian and adopted.
Dare say it was yourself. What was the name he'd given you? Little
Cayuse, was it?"

"Quite right," answered Kiddie. "That was me, sure. And you mended my
wheelbarrow and taught me how to throw the lariat."

"As for Buckskin Jack," continued Sprott, "there never was any one like
him. Best all-round scout I've ever known, Red or White; and the
truest gentleman. English, too, he was, and that means a lot to me--a
lot it means. I'm proud to meet the son of Buckskin Jack. And if
there's anything I can do for you, just name it."

"Thank you, Si