had been crudely sealed inside with split poles overlapping
one another. The ceiling was more or less flat; the roof had
a slight slope. In the middle of the tiny attic thus formed
Buddy managed to worm his body through a hole in the gable
next to the creek.

He wriggled back to the end next the cabin and lay there very
flat and very quiet, peeping out through a half-inch crack,
too wise in the ways of silence to hold his breath until he
must heave a sigh to relieve his lungs. It was hard to
breathe naturally and easily after that swift dash, but
somehow he did it. An Indian had swerved and ridden behind
the cabin, and was leaning and peering in all directions to
see if anyone had remained. Perhaps he suspected an ambush;
Buddy was absolutely certain that the fellow was looking for
him, personally, and that he had seen, Buddy run toward the
creek.

It was not a pleasant thought, and the fact that he knew that
buck Indian by name, and had once traded him a jackknife for
a beautifully tanned wolf skin for his mother, did not make
it pleasanter. Hides-the-face would not let past friendliness
stand in the way of a killing.

Presently Hides-the-face dismounted and tied his horse to a
corner log of the cabin, and went inside with the others to
see what he could find that could be eaten or carried off.
Buddy saw fresh smoke issue from the stone chimney, and
guessed that Step-and-a-Half had left something that could be
cooked. It became evident, in the course of an hour or so,