"I just had." Rube nodded. "But all the time I kinder felt as you'd turn up, somehow. I gotter 'normous faith in you, Kiddie. I was plumb certain you'd foller on my tracks, though I didn't blaze no trail."
"You blazed it quite enough for me, Rube," Kiddie averred. "I didn't fool around any, searchin' for your dead body at the foot of the cliffs in Lone Wolf Cañon. The sight of the eagles in flight and, afterwards, the signs of Injuns told me all I needed to know. Say, you didn't make an extra good witness for the defence, else you'd have made 'em understand that you weren't the enemy spy they took you for. Pity you never mentioned the name of Gideon Birkenshaw, or of Buckskin Jack, or even of your own father. Simon Sprott would sure have tumbled to your innocence."
"Dare say," acknowledged Rube. "But how in thunder was I ter know as any of 'em c'd understand English? Simon Sprott never let on that he was anythin' but a pure Injun until after I was condemned."
"You ain't hurt any, I hope?" Kiddie inquired.
"Nope. Shins are some scorched. Moccasins an' leggin's are spoilt, an' my eyes are nippin'. Oh, an' they've took my six-shooter, Kiddie. D'you reckon we c'n get it back?"
"Very likely," said Kiddie. "I'll ask Si Sprott. Here he is comin' back."
CHAPTER XVII
THE RUSE OF THE BUFFALO TRAIL
Simon Sprott approached them, smiling as Indian medicine men are not supposed to smile.