e, his revolver, and the
edge of his hunting-knife, as if he had a battle with Pawnees on hand.
He gave up studying the ruins at once, and even forgot how many nuggets
his gold had been run into. He had never before felt precisely that kind
of excitement, and was too young to know that every entirely new
enthusiasm is worth a whole book in the way of education, if it comes
rightly. People who have never been waked up are apt to be dull people.

It was an old story to Yellow Pine, and when at last they both were
mounted and ready to ride away, it was worth while to look at his
cast-iron face and then at that of Sile Parks.

"Sile," said his father, as he looked at him, "bring me in some Indians;
not a whole tribe; just a few."

"Come on, Sile," said Pine. "We'll bring all we find, I reckon."

He showed no disposition to ride fast, but cantered away to the right,
skirting the edge of the mountain slope, and seeming to study every
clump of trees and bushes they came to. It was mostly grassy "open" for
quite a distance from the mouth of the canon.

"No smoke anywhere," said Pine. "They're not camped hereaway."

"I walked out along their trail, at the ruins," said Sile. "Why didn't
you follow it?"

"That's a fair question, Sile. It looks as if I'd orter ha' done it, but
you see, I don't want to ketch up with 'em or let 'em know we're here. I
want to find 'em without telling 'em what road I kem by."

It was a sort of half-Indian cunning, but it was not quite equal to the
needs of the matter. Full-blooded Indian cunning beat it all to pieces,
as they were to find out before morning. It came to pass in a perfectly
easy and natural sort of way.

When the entire band of Nez Perces had arrived, and every soul in it had
taken a look at the dead grisly, they had no notion of walking back a
single rod. The braves had noted the indications of running water in the
distance, and they pushed on until they found a camp-ground on the
border of a swift, bright stream, almost alive with trout. It was
bordered by a wide band of forest, and the trees were magnificent. Here
at last they could all sit down in a kind of peace and plenty, and mourn
for their dogs and ponies.

Two Arrows had no mourning to do. What he really needed was to be
hooped, like a barrel, for fear his pride and ambition might burst him.
He felt as if he were about ten feet high and weighed more than a horse.
All the other Indians he had heard of were nothing at