Broken Feather? Oh, Kiddie, Kiddie, I might ha' known—I might ha' known. But I never thought, never guessed it c'd be you. My! how you've growed! how you've—improved! And you ain't wearin' your earl's coronet, nor your robe trimmed round with ermine skins? You've come just like one of ourselves."
"Yes," Kiddie laughed—"in the uniform of the plains, like a simple frontier scout, leaving all the useless fashionable fixings behind me in England."
"Didn't yer like it, then?" Gideon questioned. "Didn't yer cotton to it, bein' a English nobleman with a pile o' dollars an' vast estates? Didn't yer find that seat in the House of Lords altogether comfortable?"
Kiddie sipped at the cup of coffee.
"I never even entered the House of Lords," he explained. "It wasn't really necessary. As to my being an English nobleman—well, that was all right; nobody ever objected; everybody was tremendously kind and considerate. But somehow I didn't exactly cotton to it, Gid. I was never at my ease, except when out riding, or shooting, or yachting. You see, the blood of the wilds is in my veins. I didn't like the whirl and gaiety and excitement of London. It seemed somehow hollow and insincere. I yearned for the freedom and simplicity of life on the prairies; couldn't put myself on a level with men who had been to public schools and universities, or talk with elegant ladies who were maybe criticizing the way I ate and spoke and moved. I even felt myself inferior to my own valet, who addressed me as 'your lordship' while teaching me the proper way to wear my fine clothes."
"Ah!" sighed Gideon. "In them circumstances nat'rally you occasion'lly thought of the old trail here, an' of me an' the boys, eh?"
"Always," Kiddie answered him. "Always in the social rush of London I heard the dear old tune of the Sweetwater River, the musical murmur of the pine trees, and all the familiar voices of the wilds, and they for ever called to me, 'Kiddie, Kiddie, come back, come back! This is the life for you, not that.' And so, old man, I've come back."
"And haven't delayed none in droppin' inter your old ways," added Gideon. "Hadn't been back in camp ten minutes 'fore you was at your old graft of shootin' law-breakin' Injuns."
"Did you recover your ponies?" Kiddie asked.
"Some," Gideon nodded. "But not the Arab mare—the best of the bunch. She's took."
"Oh, but the Arab is all right," smiled Kiddie. "You'll find her in the old stable back of the timber stack."
"Eh? You captured her? Then what about Broken Feather—the Injun that rode her? Did he give you the slip, or——?"
"Oh, he's captured, too," said Kiddie. "I towed him along in the loop of my lariat, and fixed him up in one of your lean-to sheds. He's in need of some sticking plaster for a cut on his leg. If you'll come along, we'll go and attend to him, while Mee-Mee gets ready the breakfast."
They went out to the shed. Kiddie loosened the padlock, flung open the door and looked within. The place was empty. Broken Feather had escaped.
CHAPTER III
A DANGEROUS ENEMY
Broken Feather had certainly made his escape. There could be no doubting it. With a quick glance Kiddie searched within the empty shed; he even exercised his sense of smell, sniffing inquiringly.
"Seems he's bunked," he said, turning round to Gideon. "I'm puzzled to know just how he managed it. The door was securely padlocked on the outside. There's no other exit." He looked at the ground for new tracks of the Indian's moccasined feet, but saw no sign.
"That's kind o' queer," reflected Gideon. "It's a strong shed. You helped ter build it yourself, years ago, as a storehouse for pelts and ammunition. Thar's no chimney, no winder; only the door. You may well ask how did he quit? Say"—the old man clutched Kiddie's arm in consternation—"d'you reckon he's vamoosed on th' Arab mare?"
Kiddie shook his head decisively.
"That's not possible," he averred. "For one thing, he could hardly have mounted her with that bullet wound in his leg. For another thing, the mare's still safe in the stable where I locked her. I heard her snorting as we passed, a minute ago. Here's the key, if you like to go and have a look at her."
"Then you figure he's gone away on foot?" pursued Gideon, ignoring the proffered key. "In that case he sure ain't very far off. We c'n foller on his tracks. Don't you worry 'bout the way he escaped."
"That is just what I am worrying about," returned Kiddie. "It's a problem that interests me a heap. He didn't go by the door, that's plumb certain. He didn't turn himself into air and escape through the cracks."
"Hold hard!" exclaimed Gideon. "I was forgettin'. The shed was strong as a prison when you an' me built it. But it ain't just the same as 'fore you quitted fer Europe. Young Rube Carter got mussin' around, usin' it as a kennel fer his bear cub. Amazin' fond of animals, that boy is; same as you was yourself at his age, Kiddie. Say, you didn't happen ter let out a bear cub, time you shoved Broken Feather inside, did yer?"
"No," Kiddie chuckled. "There was no bear there, only the rancid stink of one. Nearly knocked me down. Don't wonder at Broken Feather wanting to quit."
"Then I guess Rube let th' beast out early this mornin', while we was at the gulch."
Gideon led the way beyond the corner of the shed and pointed to a well-concealed trap-door in the lower timbers.
"Thar y'are," he went on. "That's sure the way he got out. Clear as print, ain't it?"
"Yes," Kiddie nodded, contemplating the moist ground, which the sun had not yet reached. "There are his footprints, covering the boy's smaller ones. Rube's footmarks were already crushed by the bear's pads, and he didn't turn back to bolt the door as the Indian did. Quite a baby cub it seems. But it will soon need a heavier chain than the one it has now."
"Eh? How d'you know Rube led it out by a chain an' not a rope?"
Kiddie glanced downward.
"Bear trod on it and left an impression," he indicated, as he strode to the trap-door. "The links are thin and small, hardly strong enough to hold in a collie dog, let alone a growing young grizzly."
"Grizzly?" repeated Gideon. "But you've not seen th' critter. Might be a brown bear, or a cinnamon."
"Never knew any but grizzlies to breed about here," explained Kiddie, moving the loose door along its grooves. "And I presume Rube caught it himself. Yes," he continued, "this is where the fellow got out. What perplexes me, however, is why Rube thought it necessary to have a second door at all."
"Padlock was too high for him to reach," returned Gideon, "an' Rube didn't notion t' have truck with keyholes, winter nights, when he c'd shove the cub's grub in by a trap he c'd slide open in the dark."
"Well, there's no great harm done, anyway," smiled Kiddie. "Your mare and the corral ponies are safe; none of your men are wounded. As for Broken Feather—we couldn't have kept him a prisoner, you know. We have
