In a few minutes more the uniform had again changed hands. Toma put it on with a feeling of awe and reverence, that was only natural in one who, since infancy, had been taught to respect and revere the men who wore it.
“You look fine, Toma,” said Dick, “and I haven’t the least doubt but that you’ll make a much better mounted policeman than I did.”
“I try be better,” Toma stated simply, which assertion brought a laugh from Sandy.
“Before you go,” smiled Dick, “I think we’d better have some sort of an understanding. How far are you going down the trail before you stop to wait for Henderson, and how long will you wait there if he doesn’t come along right away?”
“I go down trail about four miles,” answered the guide, “an’ wait until dark. Him no come at all if no come by dark, I think.”
“I don’t think so either,” Sandy cut in. “You’d better not stay out too late, Toma. Return as quickly as you can after night comes.”
“Another thing,” Dick spoke again, “I wouldn’t fire at Henderson’s men until after they had fired at you. Show yourself from a safe distance and let them do most of the shooting. Besides, you know as well as I do, Toma, that a real mounted policeman never fires from ambush.”
With the words of his friends still ringing in his ears, Toma crawled through the narrow opening and a moment later was gone. Dick and Sandy sat motionless.
“I’d like to be in his shoes,” Sandy finally broke forth, “and I’m sorry now that I didn’t go along.”
“That would be foolish. Toma can look after himself.”