"Well, the major wouldn't make them two fellows give back my furs, and so I asked him if he would raise a furse in case I got them back in my own way, and he said he wouldn't," said Elam. "That's all I've got to say."
"I'll tell you what's the matter," said the sutler, a bright idea striking him; "the Cheyennes have got them. Were they afoot?"
"Yes, they were. I don't know whether they tried to steal my horse or not, but anyway they didn't get him."
"Then the Cheyennes have got them beyond a doubt. They could never travel through the country you came through."
"Then what's become of my furs? Do you reckon the savages have got them, too?"
"I certainly do. I'll tell you what I could do: If the Cheyennes came here to sell their furs, I could easily tell your furs from their own, and I could throw them out. But, you see, the Indians don't come here. They take all their furs to Fort Mitchell."
"Maybe you would throw them out and maybe you wouldn't," said Elam emphatically. "I guess I had better take the matter into my own hands. When I get my grip on to them furs, you'll know it."
The sutler merely nodded and gazed after Elam, who marched out as if he intended to do something.
"That boy is going to be killed," said he to himself. "He thinks more of those furs than he does of so much gold. If I was commander of this fort, I wouldn't let him go out."
Elam directed his course toward the barn in which he had left his horse and rifle when he went in to visit the surgeon. He found them there yet, and it was but the work of a moment to shoulder the one and unhitch the other, who greeted him with a whinny of recognition, and lead him out to the gate. As he expected, there was a sentry there, and he stepped in front of him with his musket at "arms port."