"Texan heap fool!" he exclaimed. "Great Bear come. Ugh!"
He hardly did his white chief justice, however, for Colonel Bowie was even then ordering the fire to be smothered as soon as the needful cooking could be done. There would be no more sparks nor any glow to betray the camp.
"Colonel," said Joe in reply, "it's all right, but we'd better jest lop down and snooze. Mebbe it's all the chance we'll git for a nap."
"Snooze away," said the colonel; but Jim Cheyne was looking around him, and he suddenly exclaimed,—
"I say! What's become of that thar old tiger? He didn't go off with the Lipan cub."
"No," said Joe. "That he didn't. He was 'round yer chawin' bufler meat not five minutes ago. I heerd him say something 'bout his mule——"
"Mule's gone," came from a ranger who had stepped away to look for him. "Tell ye what, boys, that thar old rascal's gone back on us."
"I reckon not," replied Bowie, after a moment of consideration. "He hasn't gone to Great Bear, but we shan't see him again till we get to the Hacienda Dolores. Red Wolf's gone scouting."
"That's his best hold," said Joe. "Glad he went; but they'll get him if he doesn't watch out sharp."
That was precisely what he was doing, as he crouched behind the boulder, almost as motionless and silent as the stone itself.