“You medicine-man?” they asked the assistant clerk. “Yes,” said Horacles, pleased. “I big medicine-man.” “Ah, nah!” The soft, mocking words ran among them like the flight of a moth. Soon with their hoods over their heads they began to go home on their ponies, blanketed, feathered, many-colored, moving and dispersing wide across the sage-brush to their far-scattered tepees. High Bear lingered last. For a long while he had been standing silent and motionless. When the chorus spoke he had not; when the chorus laughed he had not. Now his head moved; he looked about him and saw that for a moment he was alone in a way. He saw the Virginian reading a newspaper, and his friend “Sippo” bending down and attending to his leg. Horacles had gone into an inner room. Left on the counter lay the pack of cards. High Bear went quickly to the cards, touched them, lifted them, set them down, and looked about him again. But the Virginian was [Illustration: High Bear galloped away into the dusk] reading still, and Scipio was still bent down, having some trouble with his boot. High Bear looked at the cards, shook his head sceptically, laughed a little, grunted once, and went out where his pony was tied. As he was throwing his soft buckskin leg over the saddle, there was Scipio’s head thrust out of the door and nodding strangely at him. “Good night, High Bear. He big medicine-man.” High Bear gave a quick slash to his pony, and galloped away into the dusk. Then Scipio limped back into the store, sank into the first chair he came to, and doubled over. The Virginian looked up from his paper at this mirth, scowled, and turned back to his reading. If he was to be “left out” of the joke, he would make it plain that he was not in the least interested in it. Scipio now sat up straight, bursting to share what was in his mind; but he instantly perceived how it was with the Virginian. At this he redoubled his silent symptoms of delight. In a moment Horacles had come back from the inner room with his hair wet with ornamental brushing. “Well, Horacles,” began Scipio in the voice of a purring cat, “I expect y’u have me beat.” The flattered clerk could only nod and show his bright, false teeth. “Y’u have me beat,” repeated Scipio. “Y’u have for a fact.” “Not you, Mr. Le Moyne. It’s not you I’m making war on. I do hope there’s no hard feelings--” “Not a feelin’, Horacles! How can y’u entertain such an idea?” Scipio shook him by the hand and smiled like an angel at him--a fallen angel. “What’s the use of me keepin’ this store open to-morrow? Nobody’ll be here to spend a cent. Guess I’ll shut up, Horacles, and come watch the Injuns all shoppin’ like Christmas over to your place.” The Virginian sustained his indifference, and added to Scipio’s pleasure. But during breakfast the Virginian broke down. “Reckon you’re ready to start to-day?” he said. “Start? Where for?” “Sunk Creek, y’u fool! Where else?”