Jack nodded in reply.
"Sabe camp where Utes sleep?"
Jack nodded again, holding up two fingers, signifying he had seen both camping places, as the Utes had not made as rapid progress as he.
"Colorow lose twelve ponies," counting them by holding up both hands, then two additional fingers. "Mebbe so white man see 'em ponies?"
Jack shook his head. The ponies had become hungry, broken away and probably were hunting buffalo grass in the lower hills when he was crossing the higher slopes of the Gore range. A few questions as to the camp on Rock Creek, what disposition he had made of the camp property and furs, and then the Indians drew their blankets about themselves and silently filed away to the corral, where they mounted their ponies and set out for their own camp in the willows, some half mile distant. After they had departed Tracy said with a quizzical look:
"That old devil is up to mischief," meaning Colorow. He turned to Jack, continuing, "Tho't mebbe so yer were goin' to plunk him fer a minnit thar."
Bill chimed in: "I seen the f—f—f—fire in yer eyes and says to myself, it's all over with Cu—cu—col—col—Colorow at last, b—b—b—but why in h—h—h—hellen d—d—d—didn't yer shoot?"
"Well," said Jack, just the least regretting he had not, "I didn't know how much of a 'stink' it would raise. The Utes are getting pretty bad, and the whole parcel of them might take a notion to come up here and clean out the Park before the soldiers could stop them."
"What d' yer mean?" anxiously asked both his listeners, with a perceptible blanching of their bronzed faces.
"Old Yamanatz tells me things aren't going just right at the agency. Colorow and Douglas' band of renegade Utes were camped outside the reservation, two miles from the cabin where the trapper and I put up. Didn't the trapper tell you anything?" suddenly asked Jack.