As he ran in the direction in which “Nebby” had disappeared, and whistled at intervals, even though the Indians were pursuing him in the darkness, the result was that the horse came in his direction. Hence, Nomad had run less than half a mile from the Indian camp when he encountered his faithful steed.
“Waugh!” was his whispered exclamation, expressing the most intense satisfaction. “Talk about hosses not havin’ sense! Nebby, you’ve got more sense than half the humans I know.”
He walked straight up to the old beast; and then mounting he rode away as quietly as he could.
As soon as he felt secure from the redskin pursuit he rode in a wide circuit until he was on the opposite side of the camp, when he again approached it. Then, coming in sight of the fire, he halted.
“Nebby,” he said, as he slid out of the saddle, “I dunno if you’ve been robbed by them red skunks er not; but we’ll see.”
He opened the saddle pouches, and began to explore them.
“Waugh! They tuck all the things in sight!” he chuckled, in a way that did not show displeasure. “But, Nebby——” He ran his fingers into a secret pocket in one of the pouches, and brought out a small flat package. “They never found this hyar, and it’s ther truck I’m wantin’.”
He dropped to the ground and opened the package carefully. Meanwhile, the old horse stood with bowed head and heaving sides. But for those heaving sides he seemed to be asleep.
When the flat package lay open in Nomad’s hands, its contents shone with a dull gleam of fire, like the sulphur light seen when, in the dark, the head of a match is rubbed on the damp palm of a hand.
“Nebby, they didn’t find this hyar truck!” Nomad chuckled. “Do you ’member ther time, Nebby, when we skeered them t’other Injuns outer one fit inter fifty with truck like this hyar? It was phosphorus pizen fer kyotes. Waal, mebbe it’s a trick thet we kin play ag’in.”