among the troopers. His fine horsemanship, his kind,
courteous manner to them, his soldierly bearing toward their irascible
captain, had appealed to them at the start and held them more and more
toward the finish. They saw the second day out that he was no novice at
plainscraft. The captain had asked his estimate of the distance from a
ford of the Chaduza to a distant butte, and promptly scoffed at his
answer; indeed, it surprised most of them. Yet "Plum" Gunnison,
pack-master, who had served seven years at the post, said the
lieutenant was right. They saw within the fourth day that the new-comer
was an old stager in more ways than one. "Touch-the-Sky," scout and
interpreter, said the lieutenant knew sign talk, which was more than
their captain did. They were to see still more within the compass of a
day's march, but they had seen enough in their two weeks' comradeship
to give them confidence in the young officer they never felt for their
own and only "Grumbly," who, with all his experience, would often
blunder, and Grumbly's blunders told on his troop, otherwise they might
not have cared.

In low tone the troopers were chatting as they crossed the divide and
once more came in view of the two far out in advance, riding now
northeastward. They were following back, without much difficulty, the
hoof-prints of the two fugitives who, riding in terror and darkness,
had so fortunately found their bivouac at break of day. And it was of
these two both the men and their young officers were talking as the
little party jogged steadily on.

Peaceful hunters and law-abiding men the pair had represented
themselves. They were originally five in all--three "pardners," a
wagoner, and a cook. Their "outfit" consisted of a covered wagon with
four draught and three saddle horses. They indignantly spurned the
suggestion that they had whiskey to swap with the Indians for fur and
peltries. They had a ranch down on Snake River, were well known in
Valentine, had never made trouble, nor had trouble, with the Indians;
but the game was all gone from their home neighborhood, and so long as
they kept off the reservation they knew there was no reason for the
Indians troubling them. And here came another suggestion. The "Old
Man," Major Berry, had somewhat bluntly asked if they did not know they
had been trespassing, had been well within the reservation lines and
north of Nebraska, and the two swore stoutly that Lem Pearson, partner
and projector of