led the Indian. "Give back hosses."

"They kin hev their own hosses. I don't want 'em," interposed Matt.
"They ain't fit for scarecrows."

"Bring 'em out, Phil," said Kit. "They shall hev their own. We won't
wrong an Injun, no how."

I led out the bony racks which the Indians had ridden, and delivered
them to their owners.

"Now you kin leave," added Kit.

"Want more hosses," said the Indian who spoke this pigeon English, and
which the other appeared not to be able to do, and only grunted and
howled his anger and indignation.

"You won't git no more hosses here."

"Want corn, want meat, want whiskey."

"Not a corn, not a meat, not a whiskey," replied Kit, decidedly. "Ef
you'd come as a hungry man, we mought hev fed you."

"Big Injun come, burn house, kill white man--no give hoss and whiskey."

"Big Injun mought git shot, ef he don't behave hisself."

"Ugh!"

"You kin leave," repeated Kit, significantly, as he raised his rifle.

"No go," howled the Indian, though he retreated a few paces, and
plainly did not like Kit's cool and stiff manner. "White man pappoose
steal um hosses, and burn Injun."

The speaker stooped down, drew aside his tattered leggin, and pointed
to a huge blister on his leg, made by the fire into which he had rolled
in his drunken frenzy. Then he pointed to me, and as he did so, his
bloodshot eyes lighted up with rage and malice. I understood him to
charge me with the infliction of the injury upon his leg. Since both of
the thieves were so very drunk when we were at their camp, I did not at
first see how they had been made aware of my presence. They did not
seem to see me, and I concluded that they had identified me in the
morning by the smallness of my track in the soft soil. They could not
have known what transpired in their fury, but probably reasoned that,
as I had been there, and taken the horses, I had burned their legs
also.

[Illustration: THE INDIANS' HORSES RETURNED TO THEIR OWNERS. Page 47.]

"I did not do it," I protested, hardly able to restrain a laugh, as I
recalled the ludicrous scene of the night, before at the camp fire.

I explained how the Indian had burned himself.

"Pay Injun damage," added the injured thief.

"Nary red. You stole whiskey, got drunk, and rolled into your own camp
fire," answered Kit. "You kin leave."

The tall hunter raised his rifle again, and the two Indians, mounting
their bony steeds, rode off, yelling in the fury of their rage and
di