“No; I’m not bound in that direction,” answered the trooper, with a returning touch of importance. “I can steer myself well enough by the stars and compass—eh, Wandering Bear?”
The chief, whose shadow was thrown fantastically over the sides of the wigwam, nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “The white man much good. But never so good as Indian, who has the eyes of the eagle, the scent of the coyote, and the hearing of the hare.”
“I sort o’ think they must have it down pretty fine,” said Larry.
Billy Ashe shook hands all around; he even slapped Tom Clifton on the shoulder, although still a trifle nettled at some of his remarks.
“I guess, son, by this time,” he said, “you’ve got rid of that foolish notion about Jed Warren, eh?”
“Foolish notion!” cried Tom, indignantly. “I never had any.”
“Of course he hadn’t,” said Larry, satirically. “If he doesn’t discover that missing trooper by the aid of the sun, the moon and the twinkling stars, I won’t get an ice-cream soda at the very first town I reach.”
With a merry laugh, Billy Ashe strode away.
“So-long, fellows,” he called. “Hope you’ll have a good time.”