“That Cut Nose is a mean Injun,” pronounced Billy, wagging his big hat. “But he didn’t catch _us_――not with Lew Simpson bossing our job. I thought we were wiped out, sure, till Lew told us to kill our mules quick and get behind ’em. That was a great scheme.” “It shore was,” agreed all the men around, wagging their heads, too, while they listened. “Injuns hate to charge folks they can’t see well.” “Weren’t you afraid?” asked Davy. He liked this Billy Cody, who acted so like a man and yet was only a boy. “He afraid? Billy Cody afraid?” laughed the listeners. “You don’t know Billy yet.” “Whether or not we were afraid, we were mighty glad to have those mules in front of us, weren’t we, Billy?” spoke up Lew Simpson. “They made a heap of difference.” “That’s right,” answered Billy, frankly. And everybody laughed again. The meal was quickly finished. It consisted of only cold beans and chunks of dried beef, but it tasted tremendously good to Davy; and he didn’t see that Billy or Mr. Simpson slighted their share, either. Mr. Woods had been eating while his wound was being dressed. “George, you’d better ride in a wagon for a day or so,” called Mr. Simpson, rising, to Mr. Woods. “Well, Red,” and he addressed Davy, “I reckon you’ll travel along with us. We’re bound back to the States. Got any folks there?” “No, sir,” said Davy, with a lump in his throat. “But I’d like to go on with you.” “All right-o. Now, some of you fellows hustle us a mule apiece, while Billy and I plunder those Injuns out there. Then we’ll travel.” Mr. Simpson spoke like one in authority. Billy Cody promptly sprang up, and he and Mr. Simpson strode out into the plain, where the dead Indians and the ponies were lying. Lame Buffalo was the farthest of all; but he was still, like the rest. Evidently he would ride and fight no more. The wagon train men bustled about, reforming for the march. Three mules were saddled, as mounts for Davy and the two others. Having passed rapidly over the field, Mr. Simpson and Billy returned, laden with the weapons and ornaments of the warriors and the trappings of the ponies. They made two trips. Davy recognized the shield and head-dress of Lame Buffalo, who would need them not again. Billy proudly carried them and stowed them in a wagon. “Those are yours, aren’t they?” asked Davy, following him, to watch. “They’re mine if I want them,” said Billy. “Reckon I’ll take ’em home and give ’em to my sisters.” “Where do you live?” “In Salt Creek Valley, Eastern Kansas, near Leavenworth. Where do you?” “Nowhere, I guess,” replied Davy, trying to smile. “Pshaw!” sympathized Billy. “That’s sure hard luck. Ride along with me and I’ll tell you about things.” “Here, boy――crawl into this,” called a teamster nearby; and he tossed at Davy a red flannel shirt. “It’ll match yore ha’r.” And he laughed good-naturedly.