Three mornings later he started for Laramie, well armed, mounted on one of Birkenshaw's prairie ponies, and accompanied by Rube Carter.
Much to the boy's disappointment, he was very silent during the long ride. But his eyes and ears were constantly busy, and occasionally he pointed things out to Rube's notice—the flight of a covey of sagehens, the track of a herd of buffalo, the ashes of an old camp fire.
Once, after fording Red Pine Creek, Kiddie dropped a glove, apparently by accident, and dismounted to pick it up. Rube did not observe that, on remounting, his companion held a black feather between his fingers.
When they rode into Laramie, they found the cavalcade halted before Brierley's saloon, all ready to start. Nick Undrell rode up to Kiddie, respectfully touching the wide brim of his hat.
"All s'rene, sir," he announced. "I got a gang o' picked boys distributed among the baggage. Seen any signs as you come along'?"
"Only this." Kiddie held forth the feather he had found. "What d'ye make of it?"
"Um, a black crow's wing feather, I guess," said Nick. "I see it's a broken feather. Where'd you pick it up?"
"Alongside of Red Pine Creek," said Kiddie, "with a pebble atop ter keep it in place. Quill end pointed south-east—direction of White Bull Ridge."
"Any hoof prints around? Thar was rain last night."
"No; just the touch of a moccasined foot in the moist sand, edge of the grass."