"Bully, Jerry! Your ankle is all set and bandaged. How do you feel?" asked his brother, a little shakily.
"Just tired," said the boy. "Tired, but no pain. Oh, I wish I could have stayed!"
"Stayed where?" demanded Billy.
"With the scarlet flowers!" whispered Jerry. "I've been dreaming, I think," he continued. "I thought I was walking among fields and fields of scarlet flowers. They were so pretty."
Five Feathers sprang to his feet. "Good! Good!" he exclaimed. "I scared he would not see them. If he see red flowers, he all right. Sometimes, when they don't see it, they not get well soon." Then, under his breath, "The Scarlet Eye!"
"I saw them all right!" almost laughed the boy. "Miles of them. I could see and smell them. They smelled like smoke—like prairie fires."
"Get well right away!" chuckled the Indian. "Very good to smell them."
Then to Billy: "You eat. You get ready. You ride now to Fort o'
Farewell."
So they built up the dying fire, made tea, cooked a little bacon, and all three ate heartily.
"I'll leave you the teapot, of course," said Billy, taking a dozen hardtack and one tin of sardines. "Slough water's good enough for me."
But Five Feathers gripped him by the arm—an iron grip—not at all with the gentle fingers that had so recently dressed the other boy's wounded ankle. "You not go that way!" he glared, his fine eyes dark and scowling. "Yes, we keep teapot, but you take bread, and antelope, and more fat fish," pointing to the sardines. "Fat fish very good for long ride. You take, or I not let you go!"