r that red divvle. They're afraid, most
of the agency folks, that Fire Bear won't show up. I wouldn't take an
Injun's word f'r annythin' myself--me that lost an uncle in the
Fetterman massacree. You're too good to 'em, Mister Lowell. You should
have yanked this Fire Bear here in handcuffs--him and McFann together."

"Your coffee is fine--and I'll be obliged if you'll pour me some--but
your philosophy is that of the dark ages, Mrs. Ruel. Thanks. Now tell me
what traveler approaches on the king's highway."

Mrs. Ruel trotted to the window, with the coffee-pot still in her hands.

"It's some one of them educated loafers that's always hangin' around the
trader's store. I c'n tell by the hang of the mail-order suit. No, it
ain't! He's climbin' off his pony, and now he's jumped into the back of
your automobile, and is settin' there, bold as brass, smokin' a
cigarette. It's Fire Bear himself!"

"I thought so," observed Lowell. "Now another cup of coffee, please, and
a little more of that toast, and we'll be off to the trial."

Mrs. Ruel returned to the kitchen, declaring that it really didn't prove
anything in general, because no other agent could make them redskins do
the things that Mister Lowell hypnotized 'em into doin'.

Lowell finished his breakfast and climbed into his automobile, after a
few words with Fire Bear. The young Indian had started the day before
from his camp in the rocks. He had traveled alone, and had not rested
until he reached the agency. Lowell knew there would be much dancing in
the Indian camp until the trial was over.

Driving to the agency jail, Lowell had McFann brought out. The
half-breed, unmanacled and without a guard, sat beside Fire Bear in the
back seat. Lowell decided to take no policemen from the reservation. He
was certain that Fire Bear and McFann would not try to escape from him.
The presence of Indian policemen might serve only to fan the very
uncertain public sentiment into disastrous flames.

White Lodge was crowded with cattlemen and homesteaders and their
families, who had come to attend the trial. A public holiday was made of
the occasion, and White Lodge had not seen such a crowd since the annual
bronco-busting carnival.

As he drove through the streets, Lowell was conscious of a change in
public feeling. The prisoners in the automobile were eyed curiously, but
without hatred. In fact, Jim McFann's killing of Talpers, which had been
given all sorts of dramatic renditions