As he made his way back to the upper camp, Bob realized that in all probability he had done a foolish thing to mix in on a quarrel between the Mexicans and the Indians. That probably would mark him out among the Mexicans as someone unfriendly to them and it might have been better if he had stayed in the background. But the sight of the crowd jumping on the solitary Indian had been too much for him.
When he reached his room he found the light on and Jerry about to slip into his bunk.
“Hello, Bob,” was his greeting. “Just got back from up river. Rutherford had me measuring the elevation of all the anthills from here to Canada.”
Bob answered him rather curtly, amazed that Jerry could seem so carefree when he must be concealing some terrible secret. It was surprising that Jerry should be in such a good humor. He was much more communicative than he had been for weeks.
“What’s your grouch?” Jerry asked, seemingly puzzled by Bob’s manner. “Aren’t you going to welcome me home any better than that?”
“Oh, I’m tired,” returned Bob, “that’s all. I got into a sort of jam in the lower camp to-night.” He decided it would be better not to let Jerry know that he was at all suspicious, so in order to appear natural, when the other boy wanted to know the details, he told him of his share in the brawl at the theatre.
“Must have been fun,” was Jerry’s comment. “And if you’ve made a friend of Feather-in-the-Wind, you ought to be proud. He’ll be useful, too, as he’s the chief of that bunch of Apaches. Once an Indian is a friend, you know, he’s a friend for good.”
As Bob tried to go to sleep his amazement that Jerry could be so two-faced, grew more and more pronounced. Jerry did not exhibit any of the symptoms of a person who was engaged in a treacherous plot, rather he seemed happy and buoyant over the accomplishment of something well worth while. Could he have been mistaken?