r, to meet the rest
of their party further on at the railroad, to do Salt Lake and then the
Yellowstone. They had had a late breakfast and a good clean-up, because
this was Sunday; and now they were starting on, for a walk while it was
cool, before they lay by again and waited till Monday morning. I had
reached them just in time; I think I'd have had tough work trailing
them. They looked as if they could travel some.

Their clothes were the regulation Scouts uniform. One of them had a
splendid little twenty-two rifle, and the other had a camera. The name
of the boy with the rifle was Edward Van Sant; the name of the Scout
with the camera was Horace Ward. They seemed fine fellows--as Scouts
usually are.

I don't know how they knew that I was hungry or faint, for I didn't say
that I was. But the first thing I did know Van Sant had unstrapped his
pack, and Ward had taken a little pan and had brought water from the
creek. Then a little alcohol stove appeared, and while we talked the
water was boiling, in a jiffy. Ward dropped into the water a cube, and
stirred--and there was a mess of soup, all ready!

They made me drink it, although I kept telling them I was all right. It
tasted mighty good. They got out some first-aid dope, and washed my
skinned chest with a carbolic smelling wash and shook some surgical
powder over it, and put a bandage around, in great shape. Then they
washed my scratches and even sewed the worst of the tears in my clothes.
(Note 45.)

By this time they knew my story.

"Was he a dark-complexioned man, with a small face and no whiskers or
mustache?"

"He was dark, but he had a mustache and fresh whiskers," I answered.

"On a bay horse?"

"On a bay, with a blazed forehead. Why?"

"A man rode by here, last evening, along the trail across the creek. He
was dark-complexioned, he wore a black hat, and he rode a bay with a
mark on its shoulders like this--" and Ward drew in the dirt a K+.

"That's a K Cross," I exclaimed. And I thought it was right smart of
them to notice even the brand. "He's the man, sure. He's shaved off his
mustache and whiskers, but he's riding the same horse." And I jumped up.
I felt strong and ready again. "Which way did he go?"

Scout Van Sant pointed up the creek. "There's a trail on the other
side," he said. "You'll find fresh hoof marks in it."

"Bueno," I said; and I extended my hand to shake with them, for I must
light right out. "I'm much obliged for everything, bu