Rube watched him until darkness hid him from view. Then, stooping low, and scanning the sky-line a few minutes later, he distinctly made out the silhouette of two men standing talking together.
Seth found himself confronting an Indian. The man was plastered with war-paint, and his befeathered head was an imposing sight. But, even in the darkness, he recognized the broad face and slit-like eyes of the scout, Jim Crow. He was fully armed, but the white man’s gun held him covered. In response to the summons of the threatening weapon, the man laid his arms upon the ground. Then he stood erect, and, grinning in his habitual manner, he waved an arm in the direction of the moving Indians.
“Wal?” inquired Seth, coldly.
“I, Jim Crow, come. I know heap. Fi’ dollar an’ I say.” 324
Seth thought rapidly. And the result was another sharp inquiry.
“What is it?”
“Fi’ dollar?”
“If it’s worth it, sure, yes.”
“It heap worth,” replied the scout readily.
Seth’s comment was short.