"Trust him?" echoed Bob mildly. "I wish I could trust the word of a white man half as far as I can that of a Sioux. He understands everything you say." "Can he talk English?" asked Bucks in surprise. "Better than I can." It was with queer sensations that Bucks found himself in a hostile country and with the deadliest enemies of the white man going into camp for the night. Within a minute or two after Scott and the wounded brave had picked a defended camp near a rivulet of water, the two squaws had a fire going, and they set to work at once dressing an antelope. Savory morsels were cut from choice spots on the carcasses and these were broiled by impaling them on long sticks over the fire. Bucks, learning very fast with his eyes, saw how surprisingly small an affair an Indian camp-fire is, and how much could be done with a few buffalo chips, if one understood how to keep them renewed. Both safety and convenience were served by the tiny blaze, and meat never tasted as good to Bucks as it did on that clear, frosty night, broiled by the two women and garnished from Bob Scott's provident salt bag. After satisfying his ravenous hunger, which the Indians considered not even a fair appetite, Bucks asked to look at the warrior's injured arm, explaining that his father had been an army surgeon in the great white man's war, as Bob Scott designated the Civil War in translating for the Sioux. The arm, which was badly swollen, he found had indeed been broken by a bullet near the wrist, but only one bone was fractured, and, finding no trace of the bullet, the confident young surgeon offered to set the fracture. Iron Hand, nothing loath, accepted the offer, and after cleansing the wound as well as it could be cleansed in running water hard by, Bucks took the rough splints handily supplied by Scott's hunting-knife, and pulling the bone into place with the scout's aid--though the brave winced a little at the crude surgery--he soon had the forearm set and was rewarded with a single guttural, "Wa-sha-ta-la!" from the stalwart warrior, which, Bob explained, meant, "Heap good." Sitting afterward by the camp-fire, Scott and Iron Hand, since the young chief would not talk English, conversed in the Sioux tongue, the scout translating freely for his younger companion, while the squaws dressed the second antelope and cut it up for convenience in carrying on the horses to Casement's camp. Scott reserved only the hind-quarters of each animal for himself and Bucks, giving the rest to their hosts.