" He glanced up, passed over the fact
that Miss Georgie Howard was watching him and clapping her hands
enthusiastically at the spectacle, and settled an unfriendly
stare upon Saunders.
"You shut up your yowling. You'll burst a blood vessel and go to
heaven, first thing you know. I've never contemplated hiring you
as my guardian angel, you blatting buck sheep. Go off and lie
down somewhere." He turned in the saddle and looked down at the
dog, clawing and fighting the rope which held him fast just back
of the shoulder--blades. "Come along, doggie--NICE doggie!" he
grinned, and touched his horse with the spurs. With one leap, it
was off at a sharp gallop, up over the hill and through the
sagebrush to where he knew the Indian camp must be.
Old Wolfbelly had but that morning brought his thirty or forty
followers to camp in the hollow where was a spring of clear
water--the hollow which had for long been known locally as "the
Indian Camp," because of Wolfbelly's predilection for the spot.
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