He had seen too many of that class of men before on the plains and in the mountains, not to know that he had come across a gang of road agents, through he was at a loss to imagine what they could be after, in that section.
He knew that these outlaws were frequently in league with the Indians, and he did not know but this party were in some way connected with the Sioux, from whom he was endeavoring to escape.
The leader of the party of whites was the only good-looking one in the crowd; the rest wearing a hang-dog, ruffianly look, as if they had been life-long murderers. The leader saluted Kelly with:
"Hello, stranger, which way are you going?"
"North," replied Kelly, "as you can see, if you use your eyes!"
"Yes, I see; but what are you going for?"
"It is not evident to my mind that it is any of your business where we are going," replied the scout. "I don't mind telling you, however, that we are bound for the village of the Blackfeet."
"What may I call your name? It strikes me I have seen you somewhere before to-day."
"You may call me Robinson Crusoe, if it will do you any good, though that isn't my name; and it is barely possible you have seen me somewhere, for I have been there several times."
"Where?"