Jack threw his arm about her shoulders and drew her to his side. “This is the boy that Wolf shot,” he explained. “I call him Bob, because he doesn’t know his white name, and I want him to forget he was ever an Indian. He and I have got to be great chums already.” Stickney smiled. “So it seems,” he commented, eyeing Alagwa with approval. “He certainly seems to be pretty clear grit. He stood behind you just now like a man, even if he isn’t knee high to a grasshopper.” Jack glanced at Alagwa affectionately. “He’s a good one, all right,” he declared. “Cato swears he’s quality and Cato’s a mighty good judge. I can see it myself, for that matter. He must come from good people and we’ve got to find them. And he’s pure grit. Williams told the truth about his part in the fight. That’s another thing I’ll tell you about tonight. Where did you say this Peter Bondie was to be found?” Jack looked about him inquiringly. The sun was dropping lower and lower. Its rays traced fiery furrows across the bending grass of the prairie and filled the air with golden lights. Against it the crest of the fortress stood black, golden rimmed at the top. Afar, the broad river gleamed silver bright beneath the darkening sky. Stickney pointed ahead. “Yonder’s his store and hotel, ahead there by the river. His wife is a Miami Indian, but she attends to the store and you probably won’t see her at all. His sister, Madame Fantine Loire, a widow, manages the hotel. She’s a born cook and she’ll give you meals that you’ll remember after you are dead. I’m afraid she can’t give you a room. Her guests just spread their blanket rolls before the fire in the bar room and sleep there. They seem to find it very comfortable.” Jack nodded. “That’ll be all right,” he answered, absently. He was peering westward, beneath his shading hand. “I think I see somebody I know--Yes! By George! I do! It’s Tom Rogers. I reckon he’s looking for me.” Rogers it was! He was approaching at a dog-trot from the direction of the fort. When he saw that Jack had seen him he slackened his pace. “Talk! Talk! Talk!” he began, when he came up. “These people here sure do knock the persimmons for talk. Back in the fort they’re buzzing like a hive of bees. They talk so much I couldn’t hardly find out what had happened. And what’s the use of it? There ain’t none. Go ahead and do things is my motto. When you get to talkin’ there’s no tellin’ where you’ll come out. Anybody might ha’ knowed it was plumb foolish to try to talk to that man Hibbs. Everybody in this country knows him. You can’t do nothing with him unless you smash him over the head. But I reckon you found that out. They tell me you pulled a pistol on him. That’s the right thing to do. Powder talks and----” Jack broke in. He had learned by experience that to break in was the only way to get to speak at all when Rogers held the floor. “Did you bring me a letter from Colonel Johnson?” he asked. “Has he found the girl?”