Ike groped about until he found a gash in the gully they had been pursuing, where a thick growth of stunted spruce and fir had found footing. In a pocket in the rocks he started a fire and Price hovered over it in an attempt to warm his body and dry his clothing. Ike lay down to sleep, and declared with half-suppressed anger that he didn’t care what happened. Standing over the fire, until he choked from the smoke of it, and slapping himself to increase the blood flow, Price almost fell over and his knees knocked together from some cause other than cold, when a voice beside him said: “Indian agent cold now; be hot enough in next world.” “Wh--who’re you?” “Me White-man-runs-him, friend of honest palefaces; hate thieves and liars.” “Do you know Buffalo Bill?” “Him greatest man in world; him white friend of red men.” “Do you know where he is?” “Wuh; him in mountains; mebby find white cutthroats, take um back to be hung.” “For how much money will you take us out of here and show us the way to Laramie?” “Me not trade with white thief. Buffalo Bill take you Laramie.” “If I would give you one hundred ponies, wouldn’t you get us out of this place?” “Much as the red man loves these hills and plains, he would not sell his services for it all, to the white thief who stole the lives of squaws and papooses,” and the stern red man waved his arms to signify all around him. “Won’t you procure us food for money?” “If the red chief had the rotten meat you have given his red brother, he would sell it to you.” “See!” cried Price, attempting to awaken pity in the heart of the Indian, “I shiver and die.” “If the red chief had the rags you have given his braves for blankets, he would burn them that the sight might rekindle the fires in the paleface robber’s blood.” Price said no more, but held his trembling hands in the feeble blaze and waited. All his offers were spurned, and he knew that any further appeal would be useless. “I go, paleface dog,” said the Crow trailer, “but I shall come again, and your paper lies shall hang over the same fire and shrivel, and squirm, and burn with you.” “Don’t tell Buffalo Bill where I am!” gasped Price feebly. “Buffalo Bill’s heart too big and soft. Sioux warriors hate the agent with the forked tongue.” The Indian vanished and Price sank down by his little fire, broken and disheartened. In a short month he had come to this from a position of importance in a respectable community. Then he spent money right and left and lived in luxury, with henchmen to do his bidding; now he was freezing, starving, and men of all races turned their hands against him. When Bloody Ike awoke at daylight, Price told him of the visit of the Indian. “Yes, the red sneak has gone after a posse of grunters to capture us. I hope we are taken by a different party than the one which nabbed us before; perhaps then your pretended letter from Sitting Bull would go again,” said Ike.