“Why, ain’t you a-goin’ with us?” asked Old Tumult.
“I can not. I must return for my horse on the other side of the river,” replied the ranger.
“Oh—’zactly,” responded the scout; “I’d forgotten thet you hed a hoss.”
“And I am very sorry that we are to lose so valuable a friend,” said Town.; “I hope we will be able to repay you some time for to-day’s invaluable service.”
“I want nothing,” replied the ranger, “and if you will appoint a place of meeting, I will join you in your efforts to rescue the maidens when I get my horse and cross the river.”
“That’s a fair offer,” said Town., “and we’ll be glad to have your services, which are worth half a dozen men on an Indian trail.”
“Ya-as, that’s what the red-skin thought t’other day when I spread his nose all over his face with my fist,” returned the scout, with a humorous chuckle; “but how’ll the head o’ the Devil’s Staircase do fur a meetin’-p’int?”
“The place, exactly,” returned the young ranger; “but as it is past noon now, it may be far into the night before I get there.”
“Wal, we’ll wait thar till ye come,” said the scout.
“Till then, good-by,” said the young ranger.