“Oh, I know. You needn’t say it. Sounds pretty, but it isn’t worth a damn when you try to put it in practice. Well, let it drop. I’ll send over some medicine to keep his fever down, and the rest is pretty much up to nature and the care you give him. It’s cool here--that’s a great deal.” “We’ll be turning out your niece, though, I’m afraid. I can’t do that.” For the first time Rawley was keenly conscious of the incongruity of his surroundings. Here in a settlement of Indians (he could scarcely put it more mildly, with the dogs and the frowsy papooses and the two squaws for evidence) one little oasis of civilized furnishings spoke eloquently of the white blood warring against the red. The room was furnished cheaply, it is true, and much of the furniture was homemade; but for all its simplicity there was not one false note anywhere, not one tawdry adornment. It was like the girl herself,--simple, clean-cut, dignified. “My niece won’t mind. I shall give her my own dugout, which is as comfortable as this. I can find plenty of room to stretch out. Hard work makes a soft bed.” He smiled briefly. Again Rawley was struck with a sense of familiarity, of having known Uncle Peter somewhere before. But before he could put the question the man was gone, and Johnny Buffalo was looking at him gravely. But he did not speak, and presently his eyes closed. After that, the medicine was handed in by a bashful, beady-eyed boy who showed white teeth and scudded away, kicking up hot dust with his bare feet as he ran. After all, what did it matter? A chance meeting in some near-by town and afterwards forgetfulness. Uncle Peter evidently did not remember him, so the meeting must have been brief and unimportant. CHAPTER NINE “A PLEASANT TRIP TO YOU!” Rawley chanced to look out of the window. He muttered something then and strode to the screened door. “Hey! You aren’t going back up that trail, surely?” He went out hurriedly and took long steps after Nevada. The girl turned and looked at him over her shoulder, flinging back a heavy braid of coppery auburn hair. She had Pickles by his lead rope and was plainly heading into the trail to Nelson. “Why, yes. There’s a load of grub beside the trail where Deacon upset. I’m going after it.” Rawley rushed back, seized his hat, sent an anxious glance toward the bed and then ran. He overtook Nevada just at the edge of the basin and stopped her by the simple method of stopping the burro with a strong hand. “You go back and sit beside Johnny,” he commanded. “I’ll get that grub, myself. And if you’ve got a rifle, I’d like to borrow it.” “That’s utter nonsense--your going,” Nevada exclaimed. “I meant to take one of the boys--I just sent him in to wash his face, first.” Rawley laughed. “Do you think a clean face on a kid will have any effect on Queo? You’ll both stay at home, please. I’m going.”