"You take your time now, son," advised Billy. "It won't hurt that redskin to go hungry a while. Maybe he'll be a little sprier after this."
Supper was soon served, and when Roy had eaten his share he prepared to go out, and relieve Low Bull. He threw the saddle over his pony's back, and, having tightened the girths, was about to vault into place, when he and the other cowboys became aware that some one was riding in great haste toward the temporary camp.
"Somebody's coming," remarked Bruce Arkdell.
"Don't you s'pose we know it," said Billy good naturedly. "We've got our sight yet."
"Yes, and it's Porter Simms, from the way he gallops," added the cook, shading his eyes from the setting sun, and peering across the prairies at the riding man.
"'Tis Porter," confirmed Billy. "Wonder what he wants? Hope nothing's happened."
Somehow the words sent a slight feeling of fear to Roy's heart. The man might have bad news for some one in camp.
"Is Roy here?" cried Porter, as soon as he had come within talking distance.
"Yes, I'm here," replied the boy. "What's the matter? Is it my father—?"
"Now don't go gettin' skeered," advised Porter, as he pulled up his horse sharply. "I sure did ride fast to locate you, but your daddy wanted me to be sure to tell you, first-off, not to git skeered."