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One after another, they all looked. Davy flushed and fidgeted and felt much embarrassed. The tall whiskered freighter strode forward and grasped him by the ragged shirt-sleeve.

“What’s yore name?”

“David Scott.”

“Whar’d you come from?”

“The Indians had me. They killed my uncle and aunt and made me go along.”

“Whar was that?”

“Back on the Overland Trail. We were with a wagon train and got separated.”

“How long ago?”

“Two weeks, I think.”

“What Injuns?”

“Those——” and Davy pointed in the direction taken by the Cut Nose band.

“I want to know!” The teamster gaped wide in astonishment, and from the crowd came a chorus of exclamations. “How’d you get away?”

“When you scared them off I hid behind a bush. Two squaws had me, and they didn’t wait.”

“You mean to say you war with those same pesky Injuns who war attackin’ this fort hyar?”

“Yes, sir. But I didn’t do any of the fighting.”

“No, o’ course you didn’t. Wall, I’m jiggered!” And the whiskered freighter seemed overwhelmed with amazement. But he rallied, as a thought struck him. “Come along hyar. I’ll interduce ye to another boy.” And by the sleeve he led Davy forward, through the staring crowd. “Hyar, now; I want to interduce ye to a reg’lar rip-snorter, not much older’n you are. Red, shake hands with little Billy Cody, the hero of the mule fort.”