“I not know what he wanted of Mr. Havens; but I know he is a bad man,” declared the Indian lad with conviction. “Hel-lo!” exclaimed Chet. “Not that man who—who burned your shack?” “He’s the man,” grunted Amoshee. “I shall get square with him.” “But what did he want of father?” “I not know. He has been around that old mine I showed you. He dug hole into old tunnel. He want something,” said Amoshee shortly. “Say! can he be the fellow who is after the old Crayton diggings?” “He after you,” said the Indian. “What do you mean, John?” cried Chet. “He’s not following us?” “He’s on this trail before now. Going to Grub Stake. I heard him talk to big man that work in mine—get kicked out—quick! You know?” Amoshee said excitedly. Chet seemed preternaturally sharp at the moment. “You don’t mean Tony Traddles? The man who was discharged for the trouble in our mine?” “That’s he—Tony,” Amoshee assured him. “I heard him spoken to. I followed that man from Mr. Havens’ house. I heard them say they take this trail. You better look out for them. That man mad as he can be.” “My goodness! what can they want of Dig and me?” queried Chet wonderingly. “Don’t know. They not friendly. That’s all I can tell you. _Me_—I go hunting with these boys. I get ’em start last night instead of this morning, so we can catch you and say this. Good-bye!” He wrung Chet’s hand and leaped astride his impatient pony. The other Indians were already mounted. They all turned at a little distance and gave the Indian yell and threw up their rifles. Then they struck heels to their ponies’ sides and darted away into the north. “There goes a good bunch of fellows,” Digby Fordham said, with a sigh. “I hadn’t any idea Indians were such good sports.” CHAPTER XV—“WHAT WON’T BE LED MUST BE DRIVEN” “Come along,” said Chet, after the Indians were gone. “Let’s pick up the pieces and get away. We won’t get anywhere on the trail to-day. But there’s one thing sure—we won’t stop at noon to eat.” “Whew! I lose that meal, do I?” grumbled Dig. “And you’ll lose supper, too, if we don’t shoot some game. Our guests pretty nearly ate us out of house and home. I calculated on your appetite when I made up our list of provisions; but I didn’t calculate on a plague of locusts. Amoshee, or John Peep, and his red friends had their appetites with them, and no mistake.” “Oh, don’t worry,” said his chum, with sarcasm. “We can’t starve when buffaloes roam the plains as plentifully as they do. We’ll soon be able to rope a buffalo calf, eh?” “No, there’s no need of that,” said Chet calmly. “We’ve got your maverick to feed on. When are you going to butcher him, Dig?” “I guess not!” cried Dig indignantly. “He’s a pet. See! he knows me now.” He was just then approaching the yearling to unfasten the lariat. The little brute waited, with lowered head, watching Dig with what Chet was sure was a malevolent eye.