[Sidenote: CAPTURING A SQUAW.] “The squaw sat down, with her back against a tree, about fifty feet from where we were. She was evidently tired, for she dropped her head forward, and didn’t keep much of a watch. Jim Foster, one of the fellows with me, was an old Indian hunter, and knew how to work. He crept up behind her, slipped the belt from his waist, and before she knew what she was about, he had the belt around her neck, and fastened her to the tree. As soon as he had her fast, the other fellow and I ran to the cache, picked up the stump that had been in the hole originally, and put it where it belonged. Then we piled logs and rubbish on top, and stopped up the crevices, and waited a couple of hours, until we thought they had breathed all the air up and were good Indians.” “What do you mean by good Indians?” I asked. “Why, don’t you know,” said he, “that all good Indians are dead Indians?” I saw his point, and after he had terminated the smile with which his axiom was delivered, he went on with the story. “We made sure that they would never do any more stealing. We didn’t want to kill them, of course, but we thought it would be no more than right to cache them along with the property that was left. There never was a better use made of an Indian than to cache him. As soon as we were satisfied that they couldn’t get out, we took the ponies and went to where our fourth man was waiting with the mules. We distributed our loads on the mules, took the ponies to ride on, and you may believe that we travelled our level best out of that region.” “And the squaw,” I asked; “did she go with you?” [Sidenote: A CARELESS PLAINSMAN.] “O, I forgot about her. Jim was a careless sort of a fellow, and he pulled that strap so close around her neck that she never recovered. Come to think of it, she didn’t live long, not more than five minutes, and Jim was very sorry. He said he would do the best he could for her, and seeing she was dead, he wouldn’t refuse to bury her. So he carried her to the river, where there was a good bed of quicksand, and dropped her in. She sunk easy, and I reckon she’s somewhere about there now. She had a lot of silver ornaments about her, and Jim felt so bad that he kept them to remember her by. He said it would be a shame to waste them, as silver was scarce in that country. He wanted to go back, and see if the bucks had something valuable about them; but I thought we had done a fair morning’s work in hiving the ponies, and it was best to be getting away from there before any more Indians came around. And we up and travelled lively.” XX. THE GREEN VAULTS OF DRESDEN.