this man were one and the same. Jack did not know any of
the trio except Bennett, neither of the others having openly visited the
camp below. As Bennett rose up from the floor with a greeting he turned
and waved his hand:

"This Antelope, this Colorow."

Jack involuntarily stepped back a pace, halfway starting his hand as if
to grasp his six-shooter. Colorow saw the motion as well as the swift,
penetrating flash that shot from Jack's gray eyes into the very soul of
the old red devil. But the warrior never made a hostile movement. The
least perceptible smile crept into his face as he interpreted the
telegraphic glance. He realized that Jack guessed for a certainty what
Bennett and Antelope might guess, for Colorow had never told any of the
Utes that he actually followed Jack, nor that he waited in vain at the
mouth of the long gulch for that worthy young man to walk to his death.
It was with mock cordiality that the two men acknowledged each other's
presence, but not so with Antelope, who rose and grasped Jack's
outstretched hand. Antelope and Bennett _did_ guess right. The
ranchmen had seen the little exchange of "symptoms" and were at loss to
understand the purport thereof. Nevertheless, they had in an instant,
yet seemingly in a careless manner, lessened the distance between the
right hand and the butt end of their respective six-shooters, for the
frontiersman is keen to scent danger. Colorow remained in his chair and
thus addressed Jack:

"Sabe white man Rock Creek trail?"

Jack nodded in reply.

"Sabe camp where Utes sleep?"

Jack nodded again, holding up two fingers, signifying he had seen both
camping places, as the Utes had not made as rapid progress as he.

"Colorow lose twelve ponies," counting them by holding up both hands,
then two additional fingers. "Mebbe so white man see 'em ponies?"

Jack shook his head. The ponies had become hungry, broken away and
probably were hunting buffalo grass in the lower hills when he was
crossing the higher slopes of the Gore range. A few questions as to the
camp on Rock Creek, what disposition he had made of the camp property
and furs, and then the Indians drew their blankets about themselves and
silently filed away to the corral, where they mounted their ponies and
set out for their own camp in the willows, some half mile distant. After
they had departed Tracy said with a quizzical look:

"That old devil is up to mischief," meaning Colorow. He turned to Jack,
con