standing behind
Jones and Cumnor, with a huge hairy hand on a shoulder of each, and a
huge wink again at Keyser.

"Blamed if he 'ain't stopped in front of the commanding officer's," said
Jones.

"Lor'!" said Mr. Long, "there's jest nothin' them peddlers won't do."

"They ain't likely to buy anything off him in there," said Cumnor.

"Mwell, ef he's purvided with any _kind_ o' Injun cur'os'tees, the
missis she'll fly right on to 'em. Sh' 'ain't been merried out yere only
haff'n year, 'n' when she spies feathers 'n' bead truck 'n' buckskin fer
sale sh' hollers like a son of a gun. Enthoosiastic, ye know."

"He 'ain't got much of a pack," Jones commented, and at that moment
"stables" sounded, and the men ran out to form and march to their
grooming. Jack Long stood at the door and watched them file through the
snow.

Very few enlisted men of the small command that had come in this morning
from its campaign had ever seen General Crook. Jones, though not new to
the frontier, had not been long in the army. He and Cumnor had enlisted
in a happy-go-lucky manner together at Grant, in Arizona, when the
General was elsewhere. Discipline was galling to his vagrant spirit, and
after each pay-day he had generally slept off the effects in the
guard-house, going there for other offences between-whiles; but he was
not of the stuff that deserts; also, he was excellent tempered, and his
captain liked him for the way in which he could shoot Indians. Jack Long
liked him too; and getting always a harmless pleasure from the mistakes
of his friends, sincerely trusted there might be more about the peddler.
He was startled at hearing his name spoken in his ear.

"_Nah!_ Johnny, how you get on?"

"Hello, Sarah! Kla-how-ya, six?" said Long, greeting in Chinook the
squaw interpreter who had approached him so noiselessly. "Hy-as kloshe
o-coke sun" (It is a beautiful day).

The interpreter laughed--she had a broad, sweet, coarse face, and
laughed easily--and said in English, "You hear about E-egante?"

Long had heard nothing recently of this Pah-Ute chieftain.

"He heap bad," continued Sarah, laughing broadly. "Come round ranch up
here--"

"Anybody killed?" Long interrupted.

"No. All run away quick. Meester Dailey, he old man, he run all same
young one. His old woman she run all same man. Get horse. Run away
quick. Hu-hu!" and Sarah's rich mockery sounded again. No tragedy had
happened this time, and the squaw narrated her story greatl