“One time,” said the redskin, drawing his blanket about his shoulders with an air of dignity, “Joe him face cold and never feel um. One time him no care how cold. One time he laugh at snow and ice. Then all him bones be good. Then old Joe a heap strong to hunt. Now it ain’t the same. Once Joe him hunt the grizzly bear for game; now he hunt poker.”
In spite of himself, Bart was forced to smile. He knew something of the skill of old Joe at the white man’s game of poker, and the thought of the old Indian who had once tracked the grizzly now turned to gambling was both amusing and remarkable.
“So that is what brought you south. You turned this way to escape the cold and to find at the same time the kind of game you were after?”
“Heap so,” nodded Crowfoot, as he produced from beneath his blanket a greasy pack of cards. “I came to play some. Mebbe I find um good players here.”
“I don’t know where, Joe,” said Hodge.
“Mebbe over yon,” suggested the Indian, waving his hand toward the southern end of the valley.
“See here, Joe,” said Bart, “those men down there are my enemies. They have betrayed me. There are valuable mines in this valley, and they belong to Frank Merriwell and myself. These ruffians mean to seize them. Even now they are ready to shoot me on sight, and intend to drop Frank when he appears.”
“Heap bad,” observed Joe, without betraying the slightest emotion.
“Bad!” cried Hodge. “I should say so!”
“Too many for you, Black Eyes,” asserted the redskin. “Mebbe you pull up stake and lope?”