ked him
quiet-like, in th' Injun lingo, 'How many of you was there, John?' An'
th' old Injun he paused like, while every one waited t' hear, an' then
he pointed to th' ground, an' said some Injun words. An' Barry, he said
in that quiet, firm, even voice o' his'n, 'We were like the blades of
grass on the ground.' So you see what th' old Seventh was up ag'inst,
boys.

"A mighty funny thing happened after th' talk. You all know Will Curley.
He's s'posed t' be th' only survivor of Custer's men. No, I ain't sure
he is. How should I know? I wasn't there, I was with Reno, two miles
away. Well, th' bunch sorta interduced, or tried t' interduce, Old John
t' Will Curley.

"Will Curley had somehow got himself a brand-new Stetson, in celebration
of th' occasion, an' when Barry said, in Injun talk, 'John, this is Will
Curley,' Old John he never moved a muscle, but his eyes looked like
forked lightnin'. You know, Curley is a Crow--th' perpetual enemy of th'
Sioux--an' in addition t' that, Curley he was a scout for th' whites.
Old Gall he walked slowly over t' Curley, with a walk that made me think
o' nothin' else on earth but a painter, an' when he got t' Will he
paused, with everybody holdin' their breath t' see what'd happen, an'
then it did happen!

"Th' old man reached out an' took that brand-new Stetson off Will
Curley's head, an' shook it an' knocked it on all sides, an' put it on
his own head an' walked away. Insultin'!--all I c'n say is, if it ever
happened t' me, it'd be my dyin' wish that I'd have a gun in each hand."

* * * * *

A few moments of silence followed the old cow-puncher's story. In
reciting this page from the book of his life he had lost thought of his
surroundings, but now he remembered, and seemed startled at having
talked so much. He retired within himself, his eyes taking on an
introspective look as though, as one of the boys expressed it, "he was
tellin' stories t' himself."

He paid no heed to the comments the men made on his story of the Custer
fight. It had impressed them because it had rung true. The comments were
made in murmurs or whispers. As Injun had sat during the tale he sat
now; stolid, expressionless. Now and then Whitey stole a look at him. In
his mind Whitey was connecting the old puncher's story with the one
Injun had told in the bunk house at the Bar O, and with what Bill Jordan
had said afterwards; that Injun had revealed the start or source of the
g