“Who’s going to pay me for my black silk? Who, I ask you, Grace Harlowe? Who is going to recompense me?”
The Overton girls burst out laughing.
“Each of us has lost clothing, Emma,” comforted Grace. “We have two changes right here with us, however, so why worry? Mr. Fairweather, is there a possibility of getting to the bottom of the canyon to salvage our clothing?”
“No use tryin’ it. Apaches will have it before you can get it.”
“Apaches?” questioned Lieutenant Wingate. “We haven’t seen one since we started, Mr. Fairweather.”
“Mebby not, but the Redskins have seen you folks.”
“Kiss your belongings good-bye, girls,” advised Elfreda Briggs. “When next you see your raiment it perhaps will be beautifying some dusky maiden of the mountains.”
“Don’t s’pose you’ll need me any more now thet the wagon’s gone,” suggested Ike gloomily.
“On the contrary, we wish you to continue through with us, Mr. Fairweather,” said Grace. “When we settle with you at Phœnix, we shall make up to you any loss that you may have sustained.”
Ike’s face brightened, not because of the promise to pay, but because the outfit did not intend to send him home.