All three of the little party needed rest, and none of them opened their eyes until morning. As a simple precaution the scout smothered the fire entirely, by scraping the ashes over the embers. Not a ray of moonlight could reach them, and they were wrapped in the most impenetrable darkness.  
As might be expected, Sut Simpson was the first to open his eyes, and by the time the sun was up all three were stirring. Enough meat remained over from the feast of the night before to furnish them with a substantial breakfast, and cool, refreshing water was at hand for drink and ablution. When the preliminaries had been completed, Sut went out to learn whether any of the Apaches were threateningly near. He wished, too, to prepare his horse for a ride to a point a dozen miles away, close to the margin of the prairie, where he intended to establish himself until he could procure the two animals that were needed by his companions. He had not been gone ten minutes when he came back in great excitement.
 
“My mustang is stole, or may I be skulped!” and then he added a general wail: “Them redskins are getting to be the greatest hoss-thieves in the world. I don’t know what’s to become of us if they’re going to keep on in that way.”
 
Mickey laughed heartily, for he recalled the narrative of the night before. In the game for horse flesh it looked very much as if the Apaches could be Sut’s tutors.
 
“May I respectfully inquire where you got that crathur, in the first place?”
 
“Why, I bought him of the varmints.”
 
“How mooch did you pay?”
 
“Wall,” laughed Sut, in turn, “I haven’t paid anything yet.”
 
“I suppose they’ve sint in their account till they’re tired. Finding yer doesn’t pay any attention, they’ve come to take him back again.”
 
“Are you sure that it was done by the Indians?” asked Fred, a little frightened at learning that they had been so close while he slept.
 
“Thar ain’t a bit of doubt. I’ve looked the ground over, and thar’s the trail, as plain as the nose on your face.”
 
“How many?”
 
“Two.”
 
“And they did it during the night?”
 
“No,” replied the scout, displaying his wonderful woodcraft. “The varmints come yesterday arternoon, or just at dusk, arter I’d took supper and left.”
 
“How do you know that?”
 
“I’d be a fool if I couldn’t tell by the look of the trail how long ago it war made.”
 
It seemed impossible that such was the fact, and yet, young as was Fred, he had heard of such things, and the scout spoke after the manner of one who meant what he said.
 
“Begorra, but it’s meself that has it!” exclaimed Mickey, with a sudden lighting up of the countenance; “they’re the same two spalpeens that took your hoss down by the Staked Plain, and then follyed ye up and did the same thing over again, just as ye was going into Fort Severn.”
 
But the scout shook his head.
 
“The varmints don’t know much about pity, but that’s too rough a thing even for a Comanche to repeat. I’ve a s’picion that Lone Wolf had a hand in that, and I’m going for him. Come along.”
 
And the indignant Sut strode out of camp, followed by his friends. He was not the man to submit to such a loss, and they saw that he was in deadly earnest. He neither spoke nor looked behind him for the next quarter of an hour, nor were his friends able to tell what direction he was following, for he changed so often, winding in and out among the trees, that they could form no conjecture as to the general course taken.
 
They saw that he was following a trail, for he continually looked down at the ground in front of him, and then glanced to the right and left, occasionally inclining his head, as though he was listening for something which he expected to hear. He appeared to be altogether unconscious of the fact that he had companions at all and they sought to imitate his stealthy, cat-like movement, without venturing to speak. After traveling the distance mentioned, and while they were moving along in the same cautious way, the scout suddenly wheeled on his knee, and faced them.
 
“See yer,” said he; “it won’t do for you to travel any further.”
 
“What’s up?” asked Mickey.
 
“Why, the trail’s getting too hot. I ain’t fur from them horses.”
 
“Well, doesn’t ye want us to stand by and obsarve the shtyle in which you are going to scoop them in?”
 
Simpson shook his head.
 
“Ye are both too green to try this kind of business. I never could get a chance at them varmints if I took yer along. All you’ve got to do is to stay yer till I get back. That won’t be long.”
 
“Su............