r mind what thet ole pelican says. He
ain't got no more sense than a last year's bird's nest, nohow."

"The Indian had this around his neck," said Dick, "and when he fell it
came loose from his neck, and I picked it up, for I thought some one
might think I wasn't telling the truth. Now, I'm tired, and I can't keep
my eyes open."

His head began to nod, and his eyes closed.

Bud picked him up and carried him to a pair of blankets which had been
spread on the shady side of Mrs. Graham's tent, and laid him down and
left him dead to the world.

Dick had placed the little, round looking-glass in Ted's hand.

As he took it, Ted uttered an exclamation.

"By Jove," he exclaimed, "I believe this is the little glass Stella used
to carry in her pocket. Why, what is this?"

Ted was holding the little mirror up to the sky, apparently in an
endeavor to look through it.

"What is it?" asked Bud, approaching the fire.

"Dick has brought back Stella's little pocket mirror," said Ted. "I'd
know it anywhere. But the back has been torn off it."

"Tooken off ther neck o' an Injun?" said Bud, dropping his usual jolly
manner. "I thought yer said thar wa'n't no bad Injuns eround yere, Sol
Flatbush. What d'yer make o' that?"

Sol Flatbush got a little pale.

"Thar ain't none," he said. "All ther Injuns on the reservation is
peaceable. They knows they couldn't do no monkey business with all them
sojers at Fort Sill."

"Yet here's a kid run off with by an Injun, and he brings back a pocket
mirror what belonged to Stella Fosdick. Sol Flatbush, ye've got ter give
a better defense o' ther Injuns than that."

"What hev I got ter do with ther Injuns?" asked Flatbush defiantly.

"Search me. But ye've made a wrong diagnosis, an' I don't like yer brand
o' talk none. I think myself thet yer too friendly ter ther redskins."

"What d'ye mean?" cried Flatbush, springing to his feet.

"I mean thet I don't trust yer none. I think ye're a skunk, an' I don't
like ter see yer face eround this yere camp. How much do this outfit owe
yer?"

"Three months' wage," answered the cow-puncher sourly.

Bud went down into his leather pouch and extracted a roll of bills, and
skinned off several.

"Thar it is. Skidoo! An' don't try ter mingle with this outfit none
hereafter. Thar'll be a new foreman o' ther night herd what ain't got so
many friends in this yere locality."

"What d'yer mean by that?" Flatbush's hand sprang to his side.

But Bud was