He gave it to Iron Bow in Ute, telling the chief that the man with the music-maker had come out to amuse them, so that they could have a dance if they wished; but that first he wanted to talk.
Iron Bow grunted what seemed an assent, and the white men went into the lodge.
“Iron Bow knows me,” explained the blanketed figure, who was none other than the road agent, Tim Benson. “So I hit this place when Cody and his gang crowded me too hard; and I’ve been here ever since.”
“Excebt when you was road achenting!”
Benson nodded.
“I’ve been out just twice.”
“Dare have been more holdt-ups than shust two.”
“Others are jumpin’ in, eh?”
“It is hinted that this Fool of Folly Mountain is in it.”
“Likely he is. What I got I cached, and it’s where I can lay my hands on it when I need it. How is Juniper Joe?”