But presently there came a slight break in the dull routine of words and figures—­a half-holiday.  The first shipment of ore was to be made from the mine.  John Big Moose represented his tribe’s interest in this mine, and he was to go and inspect operations.  The ore was to come down from the mountain in sacks, loaded on horse and muleback, and to be delivered to the railroad at the Junction, a small settlement about twenty miles south of the ranch.

The boys thought that as they were stock-holders in the mine, they ought to go along and attend to this matter, too, but John couldn’t see it that way.  He compromised on a half-holiday for them; study in the morning, freedom in the afternoon.  So that morning they stuck to their lessons.  With John there to oversee them they might neglect their studies.  With him away, and the boys placed on their honor, the thing wasn’t to be thought of.

And here it might be repeated that Injun had a very strong sense of honor.  He had faults, as most of us have, but breaking promises, or what he considered as promises, was not among them.

So that afternoon, as Injun and Whitey could not be with the shipment of ore, they did the next best thing.  They rode off into the foothills.  And on a grassy hill that commanded a widespread view of the plains, they looked far off over the prairie.  And winding across it, clear off near the horizon, they saw tiny specks which represented mules and horses, laden with the sacks of precious ore, and its escort of cowpunchers.

That evening it was lonely at the ranch, Bill Jordan and the other men being at the Junction.  String Beans nursed his sore foot, and Ham prepared dinner, which Injun had with Whitey in the ranch house.  Time passed and still the men did not return.  Evidently they were celebrating the shipment of the mine’s first output, or waiting to see it put safely aboard the train at the Junction.  So Whitey invited Injun to spend the night, and he accepted willingly, as it gave him a chance to wear the pink pajamas that he loved.

Yawning time had come and passed.  Whitey was sleeping soundly and dreamlessly, when he was aroused by a grip on his arm.  It was Injun in his pink pajamas.

“Some one come,” he said.

“Mebbe it’s Bill and the others,” Whitey ventured.

“Not Bill—­only one man,” Injun replied.

The coming of a man didn’t seem important to Whitey, but he knew Injun must have had something on his mind, or he wouldn’t have waked him, and he waited for his friend to speak more of the words of which he was so sparing.  The next speech was not long.

“Look,” said Injun, and he went to the window.

Whitey went and looked.  There was a faint light in the bunk house, and another down by the horse corral.  As the boys watched, a man came out of the bunk house, and even in the dim light Whitey recognized him.  He was String Beans.

“Why,” whispered Whitey, “I thought he was lame.  He doesn’t even limp.”