lers to-day have journeyed across the
Atlantic--and he thought just as little about it. More than once he had
made the trifling journey from the Rio Grande to Montana, before the
inventive individual who supplied fences with teeth had made such
excursions impossible. Sheriff Tom had seen many war-bonneted Indians
looming through the dust of trail herds. Of the better side of the
Indian he knew little, nor cared to learn. But at one time or another he
had had trouble with Apache, Comanche, Kiowa, Ute, Pawnee, Arapahoe,
Cheyenne, and Sioux. He could tell just how many steers each tribe had
cost his employers, and how many horses were still charged off against
Indians in general.

"I admit some small prejudice," said Sheriff Tom in the course of one of
his numerous arguments with Walter Lowell. "When I see old Crane hanging
around Bill Talpers's store, he looks to me jest like the cussed
Comanche that rose right out of nowheres and scared me gray-headed when
I was riding along all peaceful-like on the Picketwire. And that's the
way it goes. Every Injun I see, big or little, resembles some redskin I
had trouble with, back in early days. The only thing I can think of 'em
doing is shaking buffalo robes and running off live stock--not raising
steers to sell. I admit I'm behind the procession. I ain't ready yet to
take my theology or my false teeth from an Injun preacher or dentist."

Lowell preferred Sheriff Tom's outspokenness to other forms of
opposition and criticism which were harder to meet.

"Some day," he said to the sheriff, "you'll fall in line, but meantime
if you can get rid of a pest like Bill Talpers for me, you'll do more
for the Indians than they could get out of all the new leases that might
be written."

"I've been working on Bill Talpers now for ten years and I ain't been
able to git him to stick foot in a trap," was the sheriff's reply. "But
I think he's getting to a point where he's all vain-like over the
cunning he's shown, and he'll cash himself in, hoss and beaver, when he
ain't expecting to."

When the sheriff arrived at the agency, with the warrant for Fire Bear
in his pocket, he found a string of saddle and pack animals tied in
front of the office, under charge of two of the best cowmen on the
reservation, White Man Walks and Many Coups.

"I'll have your car put in with mine, Tom," said Lowell, who was dressed
in cowpuncher attire, even to leather _chaparejos_. "I know you're
always prepared fo