Somehow or other, Terry seemed to be thinking more about the three Winnebago horsemen with whom Fred Linden had had his encounter than he did about his own experience.
"How thim spalpeens could be ridin', whin all the rist are afoot, is somethin' that puzzles me," said he, after they had walked some distance further; "can't ye give some explanation that will relaave me mind, Fred?"
"I can certainly know no more about it than you do."
"Didn't ye obsarve them with particularity?"
"I can't say that I did; they were rather small, tough-looking; two were bay in color, while one was black: I noticed the black one more than the others, because the Indian that I hit was riding on him; I remember that he had a star in his forehead."
"Who? The Winnebago?"
"You know well enough that I meant the horse——"
Fred Linden stopped short, and turned his white, scared face upon his friend. He had just awakened to an astounding fact.
"What's the matter, Fred? Are ye ill?"
"My gracious! why didn't I think of that before? Those three horses belong to father, Mr. Hardin and Mr. Bowlby."