"I seed the tracks of his pony, as well as his own. It was as plain to me as the words of a printed book. Why didn't you shoot the chap?"
Thus appealed to, Jack told the story. Hazletine listened with an expression of amused contempt on his bearded face.
"You'll git over that afore you've been here long. I think I know who he was. Tell me how he looked."
Jack was able to give a good description of his visitor, and before it was finished the guide nodded his head several times.
"It was him, Motoza, one of the worst scamps west of the Mississippi."
"What do you suppose he was after?"
"He'll steal anything he can lay his hands on. If he'd found us all asleep he'd shot every one of us. That's the kind of a feller Motoza is. You played it well on him, catching him as you did, but you'd played it a hanged sight better if you'd put a bullet through him afore you asked any questions."
"What tribe does he belong to?"
"That's a queer part of it. Gin'rally it's easy to tell from the dress, paint and style of an Injin what his tribe or totem is, but there's nothing of the kind 'bout Motoza to guide you. I think he's a Sioux."
"I understood those red men live further to the eastward."