“He’ll keep. We’ve got enough to tend to right hyar.”
Mr. Baxter lighted the lantern, and they overhauled the bedding.
“Come on, Davy,” quoth Billy. “I’m going to sleep. Crawl in and we’ll shiver ourselves warm.”
Billy’s buffalo robe was spread down on a spot where the rain already had soaked into the sandy soil, and snuggled beside him, under a blanket, dressed just as he was, Dave soon found himself growing warm.
“’Twon’t hurt us any,” murmured Billy. “I’ve been wet this way many a time before. If we don’t change our clothes we won’t catch cold.”
That was fortunate, for they had no clothes to change to!
When Dave awakened, the sun was almost up; he was nearly dry, and had not been uncomfortable, after all. The Reverend Mr. Baxter was trying to start a fire with bits of wood from some of the boxes in the wagon, and to dry out a few buffalo chips. Left-over was snoring lustily, but the rest of the camp was turning out. Billy, who was sitting up, gazing about, whooped joyously.
“Look at Left-over’s Injun!” he cried, pointing. Out he sprang and hustled across the plain. The camp began to laugh—all but Davy, who stared, blinking, and Left-over, who stirred, half aroused.
At the dark spot, which was Left-over’s Indian, Billy stopped; he waved his hand and cheered, and came back, dragging the thing. As he drew near, Davy saw what the others had seen. The Indian was a big calf!