It was plain, however, that his presence had been discovered, for a slight divergence in the course the Indians were following showed that they were now approaching. In a brief time they drew near and one of them spoke. “How? How?” inquired the leader. At the same time he indicated, by extending his open hands, that no hostile action was intended. Following their example, Reuben also held forth his hands in a way to indicate his peaceful intentions. “Where go?” inquired the Indian that before had spoken. “I want to find my camp,” answered Reuben. He was relieved by his discovery that the three Indians were poorly mounted, the beasts which they were riding apparently being well-nigh exhausted. The smallest member of the party he now discovered was an Indian boy, perhaps fifteen years of age. It was manifest, too, that the spokesman was the only one able to speak English. “Where go? Where go?” repeated the Indian. “I want to find my camp,” again answered Reuben. “I left my partner back yonder somewhere, while I went out to shoot buffaloes. My horse stumbled and fell in a prairie-dog village over here. The poor brute broke his leg and I had to shoot him. I thought I was not very far from camp, but I reckon now I am a good deal farther than I thought I was. Where are you going? Who are you?” “Cheyenne,” answered the Indian promptly. “We go home.” “How far do you go?” inquired Reuben. The Indian held up three fingers of his right hand to indicate the distance which must be covered before they rejoined their tribe. “Three miles!” said Reuben, startled by the suggestion. The Indian laughed and, shaking his head, again held up his three fingers. “Three hundred miles, you mean?” said Reuben. The Indian nodded his head several times to indicate that the young white had spoken correctly. Plainly the words “hundred” and “miles” were not in his vocabulary. Patting himself upon the chest, the Indian said: “Me Breaker of Arrows. Come to Pawnee country. Try to get Pawnee ponies.” “You mean you came out here to steal their horses?” inquired Reuben. “No steal; _take_ horses.” “How many did you get? It doesn’t look as if you had had very great success. These ponies you are riding look as if they had been turned loose by the Pawnees. They aren’t worth feeding.” “Pawnee heap coward!” said the Indian grimly. “Pawnee shut up horses in lodges at night.” “Did they find you?” inquired Reuben. “No find. Breaker of Arrows, Cheyenne. Dark Night, no find,” added the warrior, pointing to the boy as he spoke. The third member of the party apparently was ignored. “Where did you get these ponies?” “Ponies wild. Get horses on plains.” “They look as if they were wild,” said Reuben. “Have you had anything to eat?” “No eat,” replied the warrior; at least the man was posing as a warrior, although the only weapons the three Cheyennes carried were bows and arrows and one long spear, which was in the hands of the spokesman. “I shot a buffalo cow.”