“It will soon be time now to start after him,” Sandy looked at his watch. “Ten minutes to six now. Supper is waiting for us in the dining room.”
“When we go, shall we take our rifles,” asked Dick.
“No, just our revolvers.”
On the way to the supper table, Toma swung in behind Corporal Rand, his face utterly disconsolate. Looking at him, one might have thought that he had just lost his nearest and dearest friend. His lower lip quivered. Unshed tears stood in his eyes. In the dining room, when Rand drew out his chair to sit down, Toma stood near him gulping.
“Corporal Rand.”
“Yes, Toma,”—kindly.
“Corporal Rand, I feel ’em much better now.”
The policeman turned his head and surveyed the drawn, haggard face.
“You certainly don’t look it. You ought to be in bed.”
“Tomorrow,” smiled the young Indian, “I take ’em off bandages.”