"That's what he did," said Joe.
"He said we won't see no Indians down here this summer. You know them Arapahoes that's up there to Washakie is kinder friends to them Cheyennes that broke out last fall down in Kansas, and got took in to Roberson, and then broke jail there, and most all got killed. He says there's some Cheyennes staying up there with the Arapahoes and they're all stirred up and uneasy over that killing down to Roberson."
"Yes," said Hugh, "and I don't wonder at it. It was a doggoned shame the way they treated them Indians. It was all right to capture them and bring 'em in and shut 'em up. That's war all right enough. But after they'd got 'em locked up, to shut down on their grub and their water was about the worst thing that I ever heard of this Government doing, and it sure done some pretty bad things. I don't care so much for the men. It's men's business to get into trouble and to fight and get killed or to starve, but when I think of them women and young girls and little children not having anything to eat or drink for seven days I tell you it makes me mad. I expect if them folks back east who pretends to think so much about Indians could know about that, they'd raise quite a fuss. But they ain't never likely to hear of it.
"What was it, Hugh?" said Jack.
"Oh," said Hugh, "it was just a killing of Indians, like plenty of others that's happened out in this western country, only this time the soldiers took away all the guns the Indians had and didn't give them no food nor water for seven days and then they let 'em get out, and killed 'em as they run. I believe they killed sixty or seventy of them and all but about twenty was women and little children, but I don't feel much like talking about it any more, so let's quit it."
Jack had never before heard Hugh speak as he spoke now; so sternly and sharply that Jack had nothing to say and sat silent on his box, watching the others work. At length Reuben ventured a remark and said:
"This here snow-storm'll do a heap of good to the meadows, and the way it's blowing now it orter pile some of these ravines full of snow, and make the water last a heap longer than it commonly does."
"Yes," said Hugh. "This is going to be a right good year, for feed, and this here storm won't do no harm. It ain't cold enough to hurt young calves and colts. It may make the coyotes a little hungry though, and if any one of you boys rides to-morrow, he'd better take some baits with him—I mean to put out some poison along the mountains myself."
"That's a good idee," said Joe; "I believe I'll go out and mix up some tallow now."
Joe took his feet down from the stove, yawned, stood up, and walked to the window and looked out. Suddenly he exclaimed, "Gosh!" and stepping out the door uttered a loud "Hallo-o-a." Jack ran to the window and looked out. For a moment the storm had lulled; the wind had stopped blowing, and the snow falling, and the boy saw, a few hundred yards away, on the crest of a hill, a snow-covered horseman, followed by two pack animals. Joe's shout had reached the rider, who had stopped and was now looking toward the house. Then the wind again began to howl and the snow to fly, and in an instant the whole scene was blotted out.