“If anybody goes after Gail, it’s me, and I’ll not stop till I get him,” he cried, all the brotherly love of a lifetime in his ringing voice.

“And me!” “And me!” “And me!” came from a dozen throats.  Plainsmen were always the truest of comrades in the hour of danger.  Nobody questioned Jondo’s wisdom now.  All thought was for the missing man.

Rex Krane had leaped up on the wagon next to Jondo’s and stood gazing toward the northwest.  At this outburst of eagerness he turned to the crowd in the corral.

“You wait five minutes and Gail will be here.  He’s gettin’ into sight out yonder now,” he declared.

Another shout, a rush for the open, and a straining of eyes to make sure of the lone rider coming swiftly down the trail I had followed out at midnight.  And amid a wild swinging of hats and whoops of joy I rode into camp, hugged by Beverly and questioned by everybody, eager for my story from the time I left the camp until I rode into it again.

“They took me to Pawnee Rock before they let me know anything, except that my scalp would hang to the old chief’s war-spear if I tried one eye-wink to get away from them.  But they let me keep my gun, and I took it for a sign,” I told the company.  “They had a lot of ceremony getting seated, and then, without any smoking-tobacco or peace-pipe, they gave their message.”

“Who said the Kiowas wasn’t friendly?  They already sent us word enough,” one man broke in.

Jondo’s face, that had been bright and hopeful, now grew grave.

“They said they mean us no harm.  They were grateful to Uncle Sam for the favors he had given them.  That the prairies were wide, and there was room for all of us on it,” I continued.  “In proof, they said that we would pass that old rock to-day unharmed where once they would have counted us their enemies.  And they let me go to bring you all this word.  They are going northeast into the big hunting-ground, and we are safe.”

No man could take defeat better than Jondo.

“I am glad if I was wrong in my opinion,” he said.  “Fifteen years on that trail have made me cautious.  I shall still be cautious if I am your captain.  They did not smoke the peace-pipe.  In my judgment the Kiowas lied.  Two or three days will prove it.  Choose now between me and my unchanged opinion, and some new train captain.”

“Oh, every man makes some bad guesses, Jondo.  We’ll keep you, of course, and it’s a joke on you, that’s all.”  So ran the comment, and we hurriedly broke camp and moved on.

But with all of our captain’s anxiety Pawnee Rock stood like a protecting shield above us when we camped at its base, and the long bright days that followed were full of a sense of security and good cheer as we pulled away for the Cimarron crossing of the Arkansas River, miles ahead.

All day Jondo rode wide of the trail, sometimes on one side and sometimes on the other, watching for signs of an enemy.  And the bluff, jovial crowd of bull-whackers laughed together at his holding on to his opinion out of sheer stubbornness.