Ted Strong in Montana Part 64

He was undecided what to do with the Indian girl. It was not altogether practicable to take her with them, and it did not seem to be the humane thing to leave her behind to again fall into the hands of her brutal Indian husband.

At last one morning Stella announced that Singing Bird was almost well.

On account of her health and generally fine physical condition she had made rapid progress toward recovery.

"What are we going to do with her?" asked Ted, when Stella announced that Singing Bird was well enough to travel.

"I don't know what she wants to do," said Stella. "One thing I am sure of, I am not going to see her come to any harm. I have grown very fond of her, for she is a sweet, good girl."

"Let us ask her what she wants to do. I suppose we shall have to abide by her decision, for we cannot turn her adrift."

Singing Bird was sitting in front of her tent in the sun, watching the cowboys sitting around their camp, weaving horsehair bridles, cleaning their guns, mending their clothes, and doing other things that fall to the leisure of a cow camp.

"Singing Bird, you are well now, and able to travel," said Stella, sitting down on the gra.s.s.

The girl looked at her and then at Ted with an expression of alarm in her face. They both saw that she feared what was coming.

"What do you want to do, Singing Bird? We must be on the trail again, for we have a long way to go to the big pasture to the north," Stella continued.

"I want to stay with you, sister," said the Indian girl simply. "I will die if you send me away. I will slave for you if you will only let me stay near you. I have no one else on earth. My husband has cast me out; my father will not have me back; the white man does not want the Indian.

I am alone in the world. You have saved my life. I am your slave."

"That settles it," said Stella, with the hint of tears in her eyes. "You shall stay with me, dear. Ted, get ready to move the herd whenever you are ready. Singing Bird goes with me."

"All right," said Ted, glad that the matter was so easily disposed of.

"You can do whatever you want to with this outfit. If you say she goes, why, she goes."

He went out to where the boys were to give orders for getting the herd on the move again.

"We'll hit the trail in the morning," he said. "It will take some time to break camp, and we might as well stay around here the rest of to-day and get an early start in the morning."

Far out on the prairie they heard a cheery shout, and saw coming toward them a horseman, driving before him a bunch of six steers.

"Git on to ther new herd crossin' our trail," said Bud derisively.

"Jumpin' sand, hills, but thet feller hez a big bunch o' cattle."

"Wonder where he got them all. He's surely a big drover," said Kit.

But the stranger hustled the six steers into the camp, and pulled up a scrawny little cayuse, and, taking off his hat with a flourish to Stella and Hallie, who had joined the boys, said:

"Your pardon, ladies an' gents, but what may be ther brand that is burned inter ther hides o' yer esteemed cattle?"

Ted looked at him questioningly, and saw a tall, thin, bronzed individual, dressed in a most unusual costume for a cow-puncher, for such he evidently was from the manner in which he had driven the cattle, and the way in which he sat and handled his horse.

He had a strange face, half humorous and half sinister. One moment he would be merry and gay, but in an instant, and for an instant only, it would change to suspicion and caution. He was lean of frame, but very muscular, and his eyes were of a keen, piercing blue.

"Any particular reason for wanting to know?" asked Ted quizzically, smiling up at the tatterdemalion of a cowboy.

"Well, I reckon," was the drawling reply. "I picked up six strays out here a ways, an' they don't belong ter no brand in this yere part o'

ther country, so I suspicions they belong ter some pilgrims' road brand.

Now, yours is ther only bunch o' trail cattle what's pa.s.sed this way recently, an' me, bein' wise ter ther ways o' ther plains, hez ther hunch thet they might be yours. Right cute o' me, wa'n't it?"

Ted laughed at the chap's half-humorous, half-serious manner.

"Our brand is the Lazy Z," he replied.

"Then them critters aire yourn. Look 'em over, an' if they don't belong ter you, hand 'em back, an' I'll make 'em ther noocleus o' a herd o' my own."

Ted rode up to the six strays, which were peacefully grazing not far away, and examined the brand. They belonged to the herd, all right, and he said so.

"Well, stranger, much obliged to you for picking them up and bringing them in," said Ted. "Now, what can I do for you? Those critters are worth a hundred dollars or more to this outfit. I'll split with you."

"No, you won't, stranger, seein' it's all ther same ter you. I may be a measly, fleabitten, hongry, lone maverick o' ther plains, but thar's one thing I ain't, an' that's a 'lost and found' department, 'suitable reward offered, an' no questions asked.' When I picks up a man's strays I hands 'em in if I can find him, or if I was so blame' hongry I couldn't resist ther temptation I might butcher one fer ther sake o'

sinkin' my molars inter a tenderloin steak. But thet's ther wust a feller could say fer me. If ther critters aire yours, take 'em, an'

welcome."

"All right, pardner," said Ted, who had taken a fancy to the fellow. "At least, you'll eat with us."

"Sh.o.r.e I'll break bread. I'm as hongry ez a s.h.i.+pwrecked sailor. When does ther tocsin sound?"

"The dinner bell will ring in about half an hour. Get down and turn your cayuse out to graze, and join us about the fire."

"Which means ter open ther mouth o' my war bag, an' give up my pedigree."

"Something like that," said Ted, with a laugh.

The ungainly cow-puncher slid out of his saddle like an eel, and slipped the saddle and bridle off his pony, and, giving it a slap on the haunch, sent it out to eat.

Throwing his horse furniture on the ground near the fire, he squatted in the ring of boys about, and proceeded to roll a cigarette in a leisurely way.

"Say, hombre," he said, looking at Ted. "You've got a mighty tidy outfit yere."

Ted nodded, and continued to watch the stranger's face.

"Which outfit mought it be?" asked the cow-puncher, picking a live coal out of the fire and placing the end of his cigarette against it.

"Moon Valley, Black Hills," said Ted.

"An' your name mought be----"

"Ted Strong."

The stranger paused with his cigarette halfway to his lips, and lifted his eyebrows.

"Sho! Yer don't say?"

"But I do."

"Well, I'm right proud ter meet up with yer, an' be able ter do yer a small service. My handle is numerous, not because I've ever had any serious reason ter change ther one my daddy give me, but because ther cow-punchers has a most humorous way o' hitchin' whatever label they thinks fits onter a man."