“He’s a rich Californian.  Thinks he’s got a ‘call,’ I reckon, to look arter Injins, just as them Abolitionists looked arter slaves.  And get hated just as they was by the folks here,—­and as we are, too, for the matter of that.”

“Well, I dunno,” rejoined the farrier, “it don’t seem nateral for white men to quarrel with each other about the way to treat an Injin, and that Injin lyin’ in ambush to shoot ’em both.  And ef gov’ment would only make up its mind how to treat ’em, instead of one day pretendin’ to be their ‘Great Father’ and treatin’ them like babies, and the next makin’ treaties with ’em like as they wos forriners, and the next sendin’ out a handful of us to lick ten thousand of them—­Wot’s the use of one regiment—­even two—­agin a nation—­on their own ground?”

“A nation,—­and on their own ground,—­that’s just whar you’ve hit it, Softy.  That’s the argument of that Congressman Atherly, as I’ve heard him talk with the kernel.”

“And what did the kernel say?”

“The kernel reckoned it was his business to obey orders,—­and so should you.  So shut your head!  If ye wanted to talk about gov’ment ye might say suthin’ about its usin’ us to convoy picnics and excursion parties around, who come out here to have a day’s shootin’, under some big-wig of a political boss or a railroad president, with a letter to the general.  And we’re told off to look arter their precious skins, and keep the Injins off ’em,—­and they shootin’ or skeerin’ off the Injins’ nat’ral game, and our provender!  Darn my skin ef there’ll be much to scout for ef this goes on.  And b’gosh!—­of they aren’t now ringin’ in a lot of titled forriners to hunt ‘big game,’ as they call it,—­Lord This-and-That and Count So-and-So,—­all of ’em with letters to the general from the Washington cabinet to show ‘hospitality,’ or from millionaires who’ve bin hobnobbin’ with ’em in the old country.  And darn my skin ef some of ’em ain’t bringin’ their wives and sisters along too.  There was a lord and lady passed through here under escort last week, and we’re goin’ to pick up some more of ’em at Fort Biggs tomorrow,—­and I reckon some of us will be told off to act as ladies’ maids or milliners.  Nothin’ short of a good Injin scare, I reckon, would send them and us about our reg’lar business.  Whoa, then, will ye?  At it again, are ye?  What’s gone of the d—­d critter?”

Here the fractious near horse was again beginning to show signs of disturbance and active terror.  His quivering nostrils were turned towards the wind, and he almost leaped the centre pole in his frantic effort to avoid it.  The eyes of the two men were turned instinctively in that direction.  Nothing was to be seen,—­the illimitable plain and the sinking sun were all that met the eye.  But the horse continued to struggle, and the wagon stopped.  Then it was discovered that the horse of an adjacent trooper was also laboring under the same mysterious excitement, and at the same moment wagon No. 3 halted.  The infection of some inexplicable terror was spreading among them.  Then two non-commissioned officers came riding down the line at a sharp canter, and were joined quickly by the young lieutenant, who gave an order.  The trumpeter instinctively raised his instrument to his lips, but was stopped by another order.