“Whose horse is that?” demanded the lieutenant, without replying to the question.
“This?” said Eugene, innocently. “O, he’s one Archie Winters picked up a short time ago. Do you know anything about him?”
“Archie hasn’t bought him?” exclaimed the lieutenant.
“Well—yes; I believe so.”
“Why, it can’t be possible! What sort of a looking man was it he bought him of, do you know?”
“A one-eyed Indian,” exclaimed Eugene, glancing through the door at Frank, whose face wore so comical a look of blank amazement that Eugene wanted to laugh outright. “Got him cheap, too—about ninety-five dollars.”
“It is very strange, and I can’t understand it,” said the young officer, whose surprise seemed to increase every moment. “To my certain knowledge, that Indian has been offered three hundred dollars for this horse, time and again.”
He came out to examine the animal, in order to make sure that he was not mistaken in him, and then went in again and held a whispered consultation with Frank; while Eugene once more made inquiries concerning his Uncle Dick, who, he knew perfectly well, was in camp enjoying his after-dinner smoke and nap. As he was about to ride away the lieutenant called to him again.
“I wish you would tell Archie that if he would like to dispose of that horse I’ll give him a good trade,” said he.
“I’ll tell him, but I don’t think he wants to sell. He needs a horse, and this one will perhaps suit him as well as any other.”