Lost with Lieutenant Pike / How from the Pawnee Village the boy named Scar Head marched with the young American Chief clear into the Snowy Mountains; how in the dead of winter they searched for the Lost River and thought that they had found it; and how the Spanish Soldiery came upon them and took them down to Santa Fé of New Mexico, where another surprise awaited them

by Edwin L. Sabin

“What’s your name?” he demanded. Then—“I know. It’s Freegift Stout. That other man’s Terry Miller. But what’s my name?”

“Stub, I reckon.”

“Yes; of course it is. That’s what they call me. But how did you know? How’d you know I’m ‘Stub’ for short? I’m Jack. That’s my regular name—Jack Pursley. I got captured by the Utahs, from my father; did the Pawnees have me, too? Wish I could remember. I do sort of remember. But I’m a white boy. I’m an American, from Kentucky. And my name’s Jack Pursley—Stub for short.”

Freegift roundly stared, his mouth agape amidst his whiskers.

“Hey! Come back here, Terry,” he called. And Terry Miller came back.

“That crack on the head’s set him to talkin’ good English an’ turned him into a white lad, sure,” quoth Freegift. “Did you hear him? Ain’t that wonderful, though? His name’s Jack Pursley, if you please; an’ he answers to Stub, jest the same—an’ if that wasn’t a smart guess by John Sparks I’ll eat my hat when I get one.”

“I’ll be darned,” Terry wheezed, blinking and rubbing his nose. “Jack Pursley, are you? Then where’s your dad?”

“I don’t know. We were finding gold in the mountains, and the Indians stole me and hit me on the head—and I don’t remember everything after that.”

“Sho’,” said Terry. “How long ago, say?”