knows
Nick 's well as any one, an' I wouldn't trust him with a cent. Time
after time in my capacity of sheriff of the Sweetwater district I've
had him up before me--once fer stealin' a hoss, once fer robbin' the
mail, once fer shootin' a man in a gamblin' saloon. He's just a
desperado, Kiddie, an' I wouldn't have no truck with him."

"Of course, I shall be there myself," Kiddie explained. "Young Rube
and I will be there."

"Git!" exclaimed the sheriff. "What's one man agin a hull gang o'
scoundrels? You'll sure come a cropper, Kiddie; take my word. As fer
the boy, why, takin' him along o' you's only a added responsibility, a
added danger."

Warnings such as these had very little effect upon Kiddie. Indeed,
they only spurred him with a firmer resolve to the undertaking.

Three mornings later he started for Laramie, well armed, mounted on one
of Birkenshaw's prairie ponies, and accompanied by Rube Carter.

Much to the boy's disappointment, he was very silent during the long
ride. But his eyes and ears were constantly busy, and occasionally he
pointed things out to Rube's notice--the flight of a covey of sagehens,
the track of a herd of buffalo, the ashes of an old camp fire.

Once, after fording Red Pine Creek, Kiddie dropped a glove, apparently
by accident, and dismounted to pick it up. Rube did not observe that,
on remounting, his companion held a black feather between his fingers.

When they rode into Laramie, they found the cavalcade halted before
Brierley's saloon, all ready to start. Nick Undrell rode up to Kiddie,
respectfully touching the wide brim of his hat.

"All s'rene, sir," he announced. "I got a gang o' picked boys
distributed among the baggage. Seen any signs as you come along'?"

"Only this." Kiddie held forth the feather he had found. "What d'ye
make of it?"

"Um, a black crow's wing feather, I guess," said Nick. "I see it's a
_broken feather_. Where'd you pick it up?"

"Alongside of Red Pine Creek," said Kiddie, "with a pebble atop ter
keep it in place. Quill end pointed south-east--direction of White
Bull Ridge."

"Any hoof prints around? Thar was rain last night."

"No; just the touch of a moccasined foot in the moist sand, edge of the
grass."

"We'll start right now, then," Nick decided. "I've gotten all the
bills and doc'ments. You'll sign 'em when the goods is duly delivered.
You'll be ridin' in front, I guess? You'll take the boy along? Say,
if you scents tr