Two Old Acquaintances.
All three of the little party needed rest, and none of them opened their eyes until morning. As a simple precaution the scout smothered the fire entirely, by scraping the ashes over the embers. Not a ray of moonlight could reach them, and they were wrapped in the most impenetrable darkness.
As might be expected, Sut Simpson was the first to open his eyes, and by the time the sun was up all three were stirring. Enough meat remained over from the feast of the night before to furnish them with a substantial breakfast, and cool, refreshing water was at hand for drink and ablution. When the preliminaries had been completed, Sut went out to learn whether any of the Apaches were threateningly near. He wished, too, to prepare his horse for a ride to a point a dozen miles away, close to the margin of the prairie, where he intended to establish himself until he could procure the two animals that were needed by his companions. He had not been gone ten minutes when he came back in great excitement.
“My mustang is stole, or may I be skulped!” and then he added a general wail: “Them redskins are getting to be the greatest hoss-thieves in the world. I don’t know what’s to become of us if they’re going to keep on in that way.”
Mickey laughed heartily, for he recalled the narrative of the night before. In the game for horse flesh it looked very much as if the Apaches could be Sut’s tutors.
“May I respectfully inquire where you got that crathur, in the first place?”
“Why, I bought him of the varmints.”
“How mooch did you pay?”
“Wall,” laughed Sut, in turn, “I haven’t paid anything yet.”