"Amber," said I.
"And a scout-interpreter."
"Green-Grass-growing-in-the-water," said I.
"And a body of Indians."
"They'd new rifles," said I, "all clogged with factory grease, and frozen so the pin couldn't hit the cartridge. Sarde sent Amber back twenty miles to Pincher Creek to turn out all settlers in the Queen's name; then fire off a despatch here to French, and take out his citizens to surround you—all at full gallop."
"Silly. Snow much too deep. Black Prince came finely, though, romping along through the drifts, with Sarde yelling back at his Indians."
"Sarde ordered them not to fire, or they might hit him by mistake."
"Was that the trouble? Wish they had! Well, along came Sarde, despising Indians, drawing abreast of me."
"With orders to shoot at sight."
"Orders? Orders be darned! Laid his revolver across his thighs, going to make his arrest with a propah swaggah, damme!"