Kiddie had disappeared into his bedroom. When he came out again some minutes afterwards, he was dressed as a western cowboy.
"Hullo!" exclaimed Rube. "Where're you off to?"
"Along to Laramie ter locate Nick Undrell," drawled Kiddie, fixing his six-shooter in his belt.
He hastened out to the stables, saddled and mounted a pony, and started off through the woodland towards the trail.
Hardly had he got out from among the trees when he heard the clattering of a horse's galloping feet. He dropped the bridle over his pony's head, leapt from his saddle, gathered the coils of his lariat in his fist, and crept to the side of the trail. The galloping horse came swiftly nearer. Kiddie peeped out over the edge of a boulder and recognized his own bay hunter Regent.
The rider's face was hidden under his wide hat, but as he raised his whip hand there was the gleam of a yellow and black striped vest. Kiddie gripped his lariat ready to throw, but he did not throw it. Instead, he whistled loud and shrill, and, as the horseman came abreast of him, he called out—
"Nick—Nick!"
Nick Undrell drew rein, and, swinging sharply round, rode up to Kiddie.
"The very man I wanted to see," said Kiddie, dropping his lariat, and seizing the hunter's palpitating muzzle in his hands. "Where is he, Nick?"
"He?" echoed Nick Undrell, with a laugh. "Well, if your lordship's referrin' ter Broken Feather, he's a prisoner in my shack, wearin' handcuffs an' a pair of my boots, an' with two o' my boys standin' over him with loaded revolvers. An' the boodle—the loot—the swag that the greasy skunk stole from your cabin last night, it's all fixed up right an' tight in Laramie Bank."