"What is it?" asked Bud, approaching the fire.
"Dick has brought back Stella's little pocket mirror," said Ted. "I'd know it anywhere. But the back has been torn off it."
"Tooken off ther neck o' an Injun?" said Bud, dropping his usual jolly manner. "I thought yer said thar wa'n't no bad Injuns eround yere, Sol Flatbush. What d'yer make o' that?"
Sol Flatbush got a little pale.
"Thar ain't none," he said. "All ther Injuns on the reservation is peaceable. They knows they couldn't do no monkey business with all them sojers at Fort Sill."
"Yet here's a kid run off with by an Injun, and he brings back a pocket mirror what belonged to Stella Fosdick. Sol Flatbush, ye've got ter give a better defense o' ther Injuns than that."
"What hev I got ter do with ther Injuns?" asked Flatbush defiantly.
"Search me. But ye've made a wrong diagnosis, an' I don't like yer brand o' talk none. I think myself thet yer too friendly ter ther redskins."
"What d'ye mean?" cried Flatbush, springing to his feet.
"I mean thet I don't trust yer none. I think ye're a skunk, an' I don't like ter see yer face eround this yere camp. How much do this outfit owe yer?"