“IT can’t be,” gasped the mystified George; “you’re mistaken.”
“Come and see for yourself; where did you leave your clothes?”
“Over there on top of that boulder,” replied George, coming forward and staring at the object named.
“Well, do you see them now?”
“Maybe the wind blew them off,” weakly suggested the other, although he knew such a thing was impossible, for there had not been a breath of air stirring for hours.
The two made careful search. Not a stitch of their garments was to be seen.
“And the thieves have taken those we spread out to dry. Aren’t we in a pretty fix? We’ll have to travel naked until we can kill a bear or two and rob them of their hides.”
“Who was the thief?” was the superfluous query of George, staring here and there in quest of the wretch who had done this “low down” thing. “You don’t suppose it was Mul-tal-la?”
“No; how could it be? What would he want of our clothes? We saw him go down the trail; I don’t believe he is within a mile of us.”
“Maybe Black Elk and his warriors have been following and waiting for a chance of this kind.”