"When we first came here," I informed him, "it looked like the last travel over the trail had been about two months before--that would have been about September--and the tracks were going toward the Smoky Hill; but they might have been made by Cheyennes or 'Rapahoes." "We'll be apt to find an old moccasin, or a broken arrow, or somethin' dropped or thrown away on the trail, before we travel very far, that'll tell what tribe travelled it last," remarked the scout. "I noticed that you don't carry any picket-pin," I remarked; "how do you picket your horse out?" "I picket him to a hole in the ground. I dig a hole with my knife about a foot deep; tie a big knot in the end of my lariat; put it down in the bottom of the hole; fill in the dirt an' tamp it down hard as I can with my foot; an' that'll hold him 'bout as good as a picket-pin, an' saves the trouble, an' saves my horse the weight of the iron pin; an' I always try to lighten my horse's load of every ounce I can do away with. An' when I'm out by myself, or where there's nobody to stan' guard at night, I make my bed with my head on my saddle, 'bout half-way 'tween my horse an' the end of my lariat that's buried, an' if anything strange comes in sight the horse'll begin running 'round at the end of his rope, an' dragging it over me'll wake me up." "Well, your way of doing these things is just about the same as we were trained to do in the cavalry," I remarked. "Why, of course," replied Bill, "for nearly all I know about scouting is what I learnt from the ol' cavalrymen an' ol' army officers. You take one of them ol' soldiers or officers that's been out on the frontier fifteen or twenty years, an' what he don't know about such matters ain't worth knowing." In the morning, after breakfast, while assisting the two scouts to saddle up and pack their mule, Jack cut off an antelope ham and tied it in their pack, "to give them a starting of fresh meat," as he said. Taking up a position in front of Bill, Found stood wagging his tail and looking up pleadingly into his master's face, seeming to ask: "May I go with you?" "No, Found," said the scout, between whom and his dog there seemed to be a perfect understanding, "you can't go. It'd be too long an' hard a road for you an' would wear you out. You must stay right here till I come back." Then, turning to me, he said: "You'd better get his chain an' collar an' I'll tie him to that post there, an' he'll know by that that I don't want him to go an' he'll not try to follow us after we leave." I brought the chain and Bill took it and tied the dog, petting and talking kindly to him, and then making him lie down, which seemed to satisfy Found that his master desired him to remain. "Let us hear from you, Bill," I requested, "as soon as you get back, will you, for I'd like to know how the Kiowas are feeling." "Yes, I will," he replied; "if I don't come back this way I'll come over from the fort soon after we get back."