"No, Tom," replied the scout, "money wouldn't buy that dog. But there's been two or three attempts made to steal him from me since I've been here in town—I come pretty nigh having to kill a feller about him just the other day—an', seeing as he's taken such a shine to you fellers, I was thinkin' of gettin' you to take him along with you out to Larned an' leave him with somebody there to keep for me till I come out; or maybe you'd keep him with your outfit."
"Just the thing!" exclaimed Jack. "We'll take him along, all right, an' we won't leave him at Fort Larned, either—we'll keep him till you call for him."
"Well, boys, I b'lieve he'll be useful to you, for he's a shepherd an' takes to minding stock naturally, an' he's a good all-round watch-dog—one of the smartest I ever saw. I call him 'Found,' 'cause I found him when he seemed to be lost. You'll have to keep him tied up for a few days when you leave here; after that, I think, he'll stick to you, 'cause he's been used to lookin' after them mules an' ponies all summer. But, mind you, now, I ain't a-givin' him to you—only lendin' him."
"All right, Bill; he's your dog," said Tom, "an' we'll take good care of him till you want him." Thus Found became one of us.
That afternoon Tom began the work of estimating the supplies that we would need for our winter's trip, endeavoring to calculate the quantity of each item of the provisions and from that the weight that we would have to haul in our wagon. As an old soldier, he made his figures on the basis of rations—one man's allowance of each article of food for one day. He said:
"We'll make our estimate at about the rate of government rations, but, as we don't have to restrict ourselves exactly to Uncle Sam's allowance we'll allow a margin in some things to suit our own notions."
Tom calculated that about four months' rations for three men ought to be enough to carry us from the middle of October to the middle of February, and he told me to make my requisition for four hundred rations of each article and set down the number of pounds' weight of each as I went along.
"Of breadstuffs," he said, "we ought to take about three fourths flour—three hundred pounds—and one fourth hardtack—one hundred pounds. That'll make four hundred pounds of freight. Then, as an extra, a sack of corn-meal—fifty pounds.
"As we'll be able to kill plenty of wild meat, two hundred rations of bacon will be enough. At three fourths of a pound to the ration, that will be one hundred and fifty pounds."
So he went through the list of beans, rice, hominy, coffee, tea, and sugar, with vinegar, salt, pepper, yeast-powder, together with two hundred pounds of potatoes and one hundred pounds of onions. With some dried fruit and soap the total weight came to one thousand five hundred and forty-one pounds, to which he added one thousand pounds of corn, as feed for the animals during the worst weather. He purposed to take also a scythe and hay-fork and, as soon as we got into camp, to cut hay and make a stack as added provision against bad weather. These things, together with all the camp equipment to be carried, would make a load of not far from three thousand pounds for the animals.