"It's shore amazin' how much roast hump ribs a man kin store away without feelin' it," replied Hank. "But thar's allus one drawback ter gittin' inter th' buffaler range; whar ye find buffaler ye find Injuns, an' nobody kin tell what an Injun's goin' ter do. If they only try ter stampede yer critters yer gittin' off easy. Take a Pawnee war-party, headin' fer th' Comanche or Kiowa country, fer instance. Thar off fer ter steal hosses; but thar primed ter fight. If thar strong enough a caravan'll look good ter 'em. One thing ye want ter remember: if th' Injuns ain't strong, don't ye pull trigger too quick; as long as yer rifle's loaded thar'll be plumb respectful, but soon's she's empty, look out." "I've been expecting to see them before this," said one of the hosts. "Wall, from now on mebby ye won't have ter strain yer eyes," Hank remarked. "They like these hyar timber fringes, whar they kin sneak right up under yer nose. They got one thing in thar favor, in attackin' at night; th' twang o' a bowstring ain't heard very fur; but onct ye hear it ye'll never fergit th' sound. Ain't that so, Jim?" Jim nodded. "Fer one, I'm keepin' an eye open from now on. Wall, reckon I'll be movin' on." "Where do you expect to run into Indians?" asked one of the men near the fire. Jim paused, half turned and seemed to be reflecting. "'Most any time, now. Shore ter git signs o' 'em at th' little Arkansas, couple o' days from now. May run inter 'em at Turkey Creek, tomorrow night." Hank arose, emptied his pipe, and looked at Jim. "Jine ye, fur's our fire," he said, and the two friends strolled away. They had not been gone long when two shadowy figures met and stopped not far from the tenderfeet's fire, and held a low-voiced conversation, none of which, however, was too low to be overheard at the fire. "How'd'y, Tom." "How'd'y, Zeb." "On watch ter night?" "No; you?" "No. Glad of it." "Me, too." "This is whar Taos Bill war sculped, ain't it?" "They killed 'im but didn't git his ha'r." "How'd it happen?" "Owl screeched an' a wolf howled. Bill snuk off ter find out about it." "Arrer pizened?" "Yes; usually air." "Whar ye goin'?" "Ter th' crick fer water." "I'm goin' ter see th' capting. Good night." "Good night; wish it war good mornin', Zeb." "Me, too. Good night." At that instant an owl screeched, the quavering, eerie sound softened by distance. "Hear that?" The mournful sound of a wolf floated through the little valley. "An' that? Wolves don't generally answer owls, do they?" "Come along ter th' crick, Zeb. Thar ain't no tellin'." "I'm with ye," and the two figures moved silently away.