FROM THE STREET TO THE WILDS 247 



"How do you know their camp is near 

 here?" 



"I don't, but they can't be very far away if 

 they came where I think they did. There is a 

 creek not far ahead and it is likely they camped 

 by that. Our camp will have to be dry and we 

 can't build a fire either." 



"Won't it be safe to have fire?" 



"It'll be safer not to have it." 



I followed his example as he slid from his sad- 

 dle, which he placed on the ground for a pillow 

 and tied one end of the lariat around his pony's 

 neck and the other to his own wrist. He told me 

 that I could sleep if I wanted to, that his pony 

 was a good watch-dog and could smell an Indian 

 a mile. 



It was a dry and chilly camp. Our canteens 

 had been empty for hours and fire was barred. 

 Every bone in my body ached from the all-night 

 pounding of the big brute that I had borrowed 

 at Fort Sill. The saddle had skinned me, the 

 Spencer rifle in its sheath had bruised the flesh 



