All that day and until far into the night I rode along without seeing a living soul, never once stopping to give our horses a bite to eat, and then I suddenly became aware that we were in the camp of Indians. While we were going along a redskin sprang up on our right and addressed a few words to us in his native tongue, and then sank out of sight again. He was one of the sentries who were out to watch the cattle and see that they didn’t stampede. We kept on and in a few minutes reached the timber. There was no one in sight, and no preparations made for supper, and I felt about half-starved.
“You can take off your saddle and bridle and camp here under this tree,” said the man. “Let your horse go where he is a mind to.”
So saying he rode off, accompanied by all the Indians save two, whom he left to act as my guards. As I felt tired and discouraged, too, it did not take me long to comply with the white man’s orders, and when I removed the saddle from the horse I judged by the way he shook himself and went to cropping the grass beneath his feet, that he was as hungry as I was. While I was thus engaged the Indians bustled about, and when I had thrown myself on the ground, with my saddle for a pillow, I found that they had a little fire kindled; a very little fire, over which a white man would freeze to death, but they sat around it and warmed their hands with evident satisfaction. But not a word was said about supper, and I began to think I should have to go hungry to bed, when I heard the twigs cracking out in the timber, and in a few minutes up came the white man, accompanied by Henderson and Coyote Bill. I wasn’t so surprised to see Henderson there as a good many people might think. He was with Coyote Bill, and of course he was bound to take up with Bill’s companionship.
“Well, well, Carlos; how are you?” said Bill; and to show that he was in a humorous mood, he backed toward a little mound of earth, sat down upon it, and laughed uproariously.
“How do you do?” said I, taking a few steps toward Bill and extending my hand; for I thought, if I could lead the man to shake hands with me, I would be all right.
“No, I don’t want to shake hands with you,” said he. “The Indians are on the watch, and they take that as a sign of friendship. But what in the world induced you to come out? Why didn’t you stay at the ranch? You have got yourself in a pretty fix!”
“I say give him a dose of lead,” muttered Henderson, who was almost overcome with rage. “I’ll have him out of my way, at any rate.”
“That’s enough out of you,” said Coyote Bill. “Such things are only done here when I say the word.”
“Hasn’t that boy been in my way ever since I have been here?” exclaimed Henderson. “Didn’t he go out to the ranch and find that pocket-book?”
I was astonished to hear Henderson talk that way. He had been growing worse instead of better; but, after all, when I came to consider the matter, I didn’t see that there was anything so very surprising about it. Some writer has said that if we don’t grow better we grow worse, and that was what was the matter with Henderson. One of the first things he spoke of in regard to Bob was, that no finger should be lifted against his life; and here he was going to shoot me who hadn’t done anything to him.