"If I was dealing with horse-jockeys I might do that way," returned Bill, "but when I'm a-dealing with honest men who I know won't take any advantage of me I like to deal on the square with them; and I tell you, honest Injun, that Black Prince is about the best horse I ever threw a leg over. I've heard that you boys have refused an offer of two hundred and fifty dollars from some of the officers at the fort. Now, I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll give you three hundred for him; and if that ain't enough I'll give you more. I ain't got the money with me, but when we get over to the fort I can get it from Weisselbaum. Now, what do you say to that?" It was amusing to listen to the unsophisticated proposition of this free-hearted, unselfish fellow. He did not take into consideration that he had just rendered each of us a service of far greater value than several such horses. He did not consider that we were in any way indebted to him on account of his horse being killed in our service. No; that was merely one of the misfortunes of war. But Tom, Jack, and I, although we had not said a word to each other about it, had each mentally decided that we ought to present the black horse to Wild Bill to make good his loss and to show our appreciation of his manly response and priceless service in our hour of need. In reply to his question, "What do you say?" and an expressive look from Jack, I said: "Not having consulted my partners about the matter, Bill, of course I can't speak for them, but I think it's a safe guess that you'll get the horse; and there is plenty of time in the future to settle on the price." "Well, now, that's the way I like to hear you talk," said he with a gratified smile. "When we get over to the fort, you and Jack can talk it over with Tom and let me know the price you agree on, and I'll dig up the money." The night passed quietly. As Bill had said, the hostiles had been too badly whipped to think of returning to attack us. After breakfast next morning the horses were saddled and the wagons packed; and marching out on the Fort Larned trail, the company moved first in "column of fours," followed by the two six-mule teams, and then came the "cavvy-yard," driven by the men of the guard acting as "rear-guard." Bill, Jack, and I rode at the head of the column with the company officers. As we reached the crest of the grade coming onto the upland, about two miles from our recent camp, with the officers we turned out on the side of the trail as the command marched by, to take a parting look at Camp Coyotelope; and we noticed what appeared to be a number of Indians--some mounted and some afoot--moving about in the vicinity of the dugouts. "Some of To hausen's people," suggested Bill, "looking after the bodies of old Nosey and his pard and gathering up the leavings about the old camp. They'll take them two dead bucks back to their camp and bury them."