And so I found myself in a new and strange life, and beginning it with a new name, which became as familiar and as dear to me as my own.
CHAPTER II.
MY FIRST BUFFALO.
Three days after the little disciplining I had given Rattler, Mr. White, the head engineer of the next section, rode over to us to report that their work was finished, and to inquire what our prospects were for making speedy connection. When he set out on his return he invited Sam Hawkins and me to accompany him part of the way through the valley.
We found him a very agreeable companion; and when we came to the point where we were to turn back we shook hands cordially, leaving him with regret. “There’s one thing I want to warn you of,” Mr. White said in parting. “Look out for redskins.”
“Have you seen them?” Sam asked.
“Not them, but their tracks. Now is the time when the wild mustangs and the buffaloes go southward, and the Indians follow in the chase. The Kiowas are all right, for we arranged with them for the road, but the Apaches and Comanches know nothing of it, and we don’t dare let them see us. We have finished our part, and are ready to leave this region; hurry up with yours, and do likewise. Remember there’s danger, and good-by.”
Sam looked gravely after his retreating form, and pointed to a footprint near the spring where we had paused for parting. “He’s quite right to warn us of Indians,” he said.
“Do you mean this footprint was made by an Indian?”
“Yes, an Indian’s moccasin. How does that make you feel?”