He waved his hands and smirked, then hoisted his bundle to his shoulder and went on. At least ten times in getting out of Blossom Range White-eyed Moses was asked those questions and made those answers. “It is foony,” he said to himself, when he hit the trail north of the town and plodded on toward the distant Ute village. “It is nopody’s pusiness vere I am going, yet eferpody makes it his pusiness.” It took him three hours to reach the Ute village. Just before coming to it he mounted to the top of a hill which gave him a good view of the backward way; there he remained for nearly an hour, watching, to make sure that he had not been followed. Satisfied at last, White-eyed Moses took his way into the village, apparently without fear, though lately the Utes had been in no good temper toward the white men, chiefly because of the encroachments of miners and prospectors. As the Utes gathered round him, the fiddler stood looking about. He did not understand their language, so it was of no use to try to speak with them; but he had a universal language in his fiddle. He took it out of the green bag, twanged the strings with his fingers, tuned it, and began to play. No sooner had the strains of “Money Musk” floated among the tepees than a man appeared, jumping hurriedly out of one. He was a white man, small of frame. A blanket was round him, covering his ordinary clothing, and his face had been smeared with grease and dirt. As he was clean shaven, with that blanket on him he looked, at a little distance, like one of the Utes. “I t’ought it would fetch him!” muttered the fiddler, with a smile. “He was hiding.” The blanketed white man was quickly at the fiddler’s side. “How did you get here?” he demanded. White-eyed Moses stopped fiddling, extended his hand, and smiled. “My feet brought me. How you are?” “Good. What’s the news downtown?” “Juniper Joe is still in chail.” “So I supposed.” “And he aind’t going to git oudt easy.” “I s’pose not.” The Indians standing round were staring; others were hurrying up, and the lodges continued to yield still more. “Vere can we go for a little talk?” asked White-eyed Moses. “In that lodge I come out of. Of course you’re here to see me?” “Of gourse. But before I go avay dere must be some dancing and chumping, in Indian fashion; to make me be able to keep my wordt, you know.” “There comes Iron Bow now. What shall I say to him?” “Tell him I heardt that the Utes was going to have a dance, and wanted some white man’s music. I vill blay for them by and by, afdher we have hadt that talk. You understand? Gopher Gabe he sendt me.” “Oh!” “You have been doing some roadt-achent work ladely?” “Some has been done, hey?” The blanketed white man grinned under his grease and dirt. “Some holdt-ups. Gabe says idt was you done ’em. I told him I ditn’t think you vouldt be so reckless.”