Every now and then he shifted his gaze into a certain direction, only to turn away with apparent indifference and let his eyes wander over every chance object that attracted them. Once the Agent came to him and they spoke for some moments in a low tone. Then he was again left to his thoughts. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the twilight waned. He remained at his post. There could be no doubt now that he was waiting with some fixed purpose.
At last he turned decidedly in the direction in 341 which he had been so frequently glancing, and this time his movement was anticipatory. A dark figure was approaching from among the tents. It was the scout, Jim Crow, who came up and squatted at the white man’s side. The two talked together for a long time, and at last the Indian rose to depart.
“So,” he said, in his pompous fashion, “I do these things. I, Jim Crow. Good.”
“You’ve done good work,” Seth responded casually. “And you’ve been paid for it, I guess. See you do this, sure.”
He watched the Indian while he solemnly spat upon the ground.
“I, Jim Crow, have said.” And with this vaunting claim to honesty the scout abruptly turned and moved away.
A moment later Seth made his way slowly to a small outhouse. He raised the latch of the door and passed within. There were two occupants. The Indian Agent was sitting at a little table smoking and reading, and Nevil Steyne was lying full length upon some outspread blankets upon the floor. This place was the temporary abode of the three men. The farmhouse had been given up to the women and children.
Seth took a seat. As he came in Parker closed his book and put it away. From his blankets Nevil glanced up quickly, and continued to watch the movements of both with expectant eyes. He was 342 aware that permission had been given for every one to leave the farm. Nor did he delude himself. He knew that he was a prisoner.
Seth placed his chair so that he was in full view of the man on the blankets. And his first words were addressed to him.
“Guess you’re goin’ to quit this farm,” he said, calmly, but in a manner which compelled his prisoner’s attention. “I’ve thought a heap, an’ that’s how I’ve got figgerin’. You’re goin’ to quit this night. That is ef you’re so minded.”