"What do you mean by riding on my hounds, you and these persons?" demanded Lord Ploversdale.
"We didn't," said Grady amiably, "but if your bunch of dogs don't know enough to keep out of the way of a horse, they ought to learn."
Lord Ploversdale looked aghast, and Smith, the whip, pinched himself to make sure that he was not dreaming.
"Many thanks for your advice," said Lord Ploversdale. "May I inquire who you and your friends may be?"
"I'm James Grady," said that gentleman. "This," he said, pointing to the Indian nearest, "is Chief Hole-in-the-Ground of the Olgallala Sioux. Him in the middle is Mr. Jim Snake, and the one beyond is Chief Skytail, being a Pawnee."
"Thank you, that is very interesting," said Lord Ploversdale, with polite irony. "Now will you kindly take them home?"
"See here," said Grady, strapping the camera to his saddle, "I was invited to this round-up regular, and if you hand me out any more hostile talk—" He paused.
"Who invited you?" inquired Lord Ploversdale.
"One of your own bunch," said Grady, "Lord Frederic Westcote. I'm no butter-in."
"Your language is unintelligible," said Lord Ploversdale. "Where is Lord Westcote?"