Sunset Ranch: A Story of a Boy's Adventures in the West — page 232: what you’re looking at

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220 Where Karl Went. “See that trail yonder?” “Um, me see. Two, three horse. White men ride ’em, you bet,” grunted the other. How he could jump to this conclusion on the spur of the moment Karl did not ask. He knew there were many signs as legible to the trained eye of an Indian as print would be to an educated scholar. “Yes, three bad white men. There were five. They stole Polly, the girl who gave you that blanket you have on your horse.” The Indian frowned. Polly had quite touched his heart by her gentle manner, her sunny disposition and laughing eyes. By the way he gripped the repeating gun Cuth- bert had presented him with, it was evident that Lit- tle Buckshot deemed this abduction a personal af- fair, and that Karl could count on his assistance. The story was soon told. Though still hardly more than a boy, he would be | a chief some day, and knew how to carry himself with becoming dignity. | “Trail no good; lose um in the hills. Take too much time, mebbe. Little Buckshot know where find thieves. Trust all to him, and we come out good. Straight as crow fly—two days p’raps. You go with me, Karl?” “You bet I will, as fast as my poor tired nag can carry me. But be sure you're right. A mistake might ruin us all.” “No mistake—you see. Bet rifle me take you where girl Polly am. No fear.” The confident tone in which this was spoken in- spired Karl anew. Besides, that ancient strip of pemmican tasted amazingly good, and renewed his flagging energies like magic. 3 “Well, this is what T call luck, anyway. Two can do it better than one, and besides, somewhere over | connicbooks co