At last the examination was completed. There was nothing left to indicate the identity of the bones. The two men now stood by the bones of the unfortunate man and woman. Seth was staring out at the surrounding brush. "I guess the Injuns cleaned things up pretty well," he said, while his eyes settled on one little bush apart from the rest. The scout shook his head. "That's not Injuns' work," he said. "No?" Seth queried casually. "No. Everything gone. So. That not like Injun." Seth made no response, but walked over to the bush he had been looking at. The scout saw him thrust a hand in amongst the branches and withdraw it holding something. "What you find?" he asked, when Seth came back. "Only a rag." Then, a moment later, Seth asked suddenly: "How far from here to--Jason's old place?" "Six--eight--nine hour," Jim Crow said, with his broad smile that meant nothing. Seth looked long and thoughtfully at the split skull on the ground. Then his eyes sought the bullet hole in the woman's skull. But he said nothing. A little later the two men went back to the horses and mounted. "Guess I'll git on to see the Agent," Seth observed, while the horses moved away from the bluff. "You go by Reservation?" "Yes." Jim Crow surveyed the prospect in silence. They reached the trail, and their horses stood preparatory to parting company. "S'long," said Seth. The Indian turned and looked away to the north. It was the direction in which lay the great Reservations. Then he turned back, and his black, slit-like eyes shot a sidelong glance at his companion. "You go--alone?" he asked. The other nodded indifferently. "Then I say sleep little and watch much--I, Jim Crow." The two men parted. The scout moved off and his hand went to the pocket of his trousers where his fingers crumpled the crisp five-dollar bill he had received for his services. Nothing else really mattered to him. Seth rode away humming a tune without melody. All the way to the Agent's house he carried out the scout's advice of watchfulness; but for a different reason. Seth had no personal fear of these stormy Indians. His watchfulness was the observation of a man who learns from all he sees. He slept some hours on the prairie while his horse rested, and arrived at the Agency the next day at noon. Jimmy Parker, as he was familiarly called, greeted him cordially in his abrupt fashion. "Ah, howdy," he said. "Prowling, Seth?" His words were accompanied by a quick look that asked a dozen questions, all of which he knew would remain unanswered. Seth and he were old friends and understood one another. "Takin' a spell off," replied the farmer. "Ah. And putting it in on the Reservation." The Agent smiled briefly. His face seemed to have worn itself into a serious caste which required effort to change. "Many huntin' 'passes' these times?" Seth inquired presently. "None. Only Little Black Fox says he's going hunting soon." The Agent's eyes were fixed on the other's face.